Second Sight
by sierra sirens
Summary: The Cartwrights struggle with a terrible tragedy - but all may not be as it seems. Many, MANY apologies for the delay, but life hit a bad rough patch. Thank you for the wonderful feedback.
1. Default Chapter

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Once upon a time there was a girl who for many years started many stories and finished none. So one day, when she actually did complete a story - beginning, middle and end - she became afraid that if she ever left one unfinished again, she would return to her old pattern of unfinished tales. This paranoia drove her to finish every story she started - even chain stories started with other people. 

This was a chain story started with a now-defunct group and retrieved from the discard pile and finished by the Sirens. Because some of the authors who started it had no part in finishing it, their writing does not appear here, but some of their ideas are integral to the plot, so, where applicable, credit has been given them at the end of the chapter. 

The room faded in a soft, misty haze of pleasure, the hot trail of Amelia's lips along his flesh the only reality except for the soft counterpoint of the rumble of voices from the saloon below, the faint smell of alcohol and tobacco wafting up through the floorboards and the jangling of harness and the clop of horse hooves from the street under the open window. He felt Amelia's fingers on the buttons of his shirt, releasing them, felt her rest one hand delicately on his chest, over his heart. The world stopped for a minute as she raised her head to look deep into his eyes. A faint warning bell rang far in the back of his mind and he hesitated, curling his hand around her wrist.

"Amelia - "

"Hush…" she lowered her head and brushed his mouth lightly with her lips and a faint buzzing filled his ears - not unpleasant, but slightly masking the outside noises. The room about him faded still further, swimming a little around him. The smell of her hair and perfume filled his senses and he closed his eyes, hoping to concentrate on that sweet scent, to stop the rocking, faintly disturbing, of the walls around him. Her hand moved deeper into his shirt, brushing lightly against him, and he felt the rush of her warm breath on his ear this time. The alarm in his mind was growing louder, but his head felt heavy and his body oddly detached, slow to respond. He frowned faintly. He felt drunk - that was it - but he'd only had two beers, with Amelia. Not nearly enough to make him drunk. Part of his brain was puzzling it idly while the other part was swept up in the steady course Amelia's lush mouth was burning across his jaw…faintly, under the buzzing in his ears, he heard the town clock strike and counted mistily along…one…two…three…four…Amelia continued her unhurried progress towards his mouth…five…six…seven…he frowned unconsciously…eight? Was it really…? Nine! He pushed himself abruptly into sitting position, grabbing Amelia by the shoulders to prevent her precipitous tumble to the floor. 

"Adam!" she said plaintively.

Adam took a deep breath, then another, not looking at her, trying to chase the errant thought that had flashed through his mind. "Nine o'clock?" he said blankly.

Amelia leaned in to him. "So what? Even YOUR Pa can't have a curfew for you." She bent her head to him. 

Adam evaded her gently, trying to focus, his head a leaden weight. "No, I was supposed to be home by - I was supposed to -" It hovered there, just out of his reach and he rubbed his forehead impatiently. Never mind. It would come to him on the road. He had to get back to the ranch. "I have to go." He lifted her carefully off his lap and placed her on her feet.

"Go!" Amelia looked indignant as he pushed himself up from the bed. "Adam - " she trailed a hand coaxingly down his shoulder and clasped his hand for a minute, hanging on. She smiled slowly into his face. "Please stay," she whispered.

Adam tottered, unexpectedly unbalanced by her clasp. "Can't," he answered uncertainly, wishing he could remember why. "Late - " He saw his hat on the peg by the door and reached for it, swayed suddenly and caught himself on the door lintel. He shook his head a little to clear it. He felt so strange. From two little…he fumbled for the knob, his hand missing and skinning his knuckles unexpectedly against the door frame instead. He leaned heavily against it, breathing hard. "Amelia, I - "

Amelia was watching him, her gaze speculative and expectant. 

Adam's eyes widened at the look in hers, suddenly suspicious. "What did you - ?" His knees gave way abruptly beneath him and he clutched at the bedpost to slow his fall. Amelia was there at once, helping him to sit on the side of the bed, prying his hat gently from his hand.

"Adam, I think you're unwell," she said sweetly. "I think you'd better stay right here for now." 

"No, I - " his tongue was suddenly thick in his mouth, stumbling his speech. "You - " He lurched forward in an effort to rise, kept falling. 

She just managed to get herself under him and stop his face down tumble to the floor. She held him slumped against her for a moment, stroking the back of his head gently, before easing him back onto the bed and studying his upturned face for a moment. He didn't move, and after a minute she allowed herself a little smile. 

"I'm sorry," she said brightly. "But it will wear off after a while. And I really can't have you leaving just yet."

_Carla Keehn is the original creator of the names for Amelia and David Fairchild, and the idea of Adam in Amelia's room._


	2. Chapter 2

Amelia slipped out the hotel room, carpetbag in hand and locked the door. Turning, she smiled proudly to herself, tossed the key in the air, caught it, then glancing down the hall, knocked on the door across the hall. The door cracked open and she saw the face of her brother David. Seeing Amelia he opened the door fully and let her in. 

"Did you get it?" he asked her. 

"Oh I got it all right," she responded enthusiastically, and reaching into the bag, pulled out Adam's hat and holster with his gun still in it. 

A wide grin crossed her older brother's face. "Wonderful Amelia, just wonderful. How about his clothes. Did you get those too?" 

She responded with a self righteous smile and pulled out pants, shirt and boots. David returned a wicked smile and, grabbing them from her, put them on over his outfit. Stepping in front of the mirror in the room he buttoned the last button, then reaching for the hat, placed it on his head. He turned towards her. "How do I look?" 

She smiled at him. "Like Adam Cartwright himself." The two laughed wickedly. 

"Let's hope the townspeople believe it. Now, let me get out to their ranch and finish up my business. Here, take these clothes from that drifter's body and put them onto Adam, then Duncan will help you get his body out of here and back to our ranch." 

Amelia agreed and watched as David buckled the holster around his hips. "David, you sure this is gonna work? We're taking an awful risk." 

He continued to tighten the holster's leather tie-down around his right thigh. "It's going to work Amelia." He saw that his words weren't helping ease her worry. "Amelia," he stated firmly. "Ever since we lost Pa I've taken care of you, haven't I? The Cartwrights have done nothing but cause our family pain, frustration and bad luck. Well, no more. Now it's OUR turn to be in control." 

Amelia nodded her head reluctantly. David reached forward and took her in his arms, holding her close. "This will be good for everyone. We have our family back together, we'll have venged our father's death and…" He pulled her from his chest and looked in her eyes. "…and you'll have Adam Cartwright." 

She couldn't help but smile at these words. Ever since she was a little girl she had been in love with Adam. She would see him when she would go riding, all proud and handsome on his chestnut horse. He never gave her more than a smile or some polite conversation, but she wanted more…. she always wanted more from him. Her father always said she could never marry a man like Adam Cartwright. Amelia refused to believe it. One day she finally worked up the nerve to tell Adam the way she felt. He was a perfect gentleman about it, offering her compliments and such, but the conversation boiled down to he wasn't interested in her. He claimed it was because he felt too much like a brother to her. It didn't make her stop loving him. In fact, it had changed her childish infatuation into a full grown obsession. 

"I have to go now," David told her. "It will be late enough when I get to the Ponderosa - they should all be asleep. And I need to make sure the people downstairs remember that they saw me. Make sure that Duncan is downstairs when he's supposed to be." 

Amelia agreed and watched her brother leave the room. Sitting on the bed she reached into the carpetbag for one more item. A pocket watch. Opening it she read the inscription, "For my son Adam on his sixteenth birthday. Love, Pa." Amelia rubbed her fingers across the engraved message then closed it and placed it in her drawstring purse. Standing up, she started to go back across the hall to check on her naked prisoner. She was stopped by a knock on the door. Answering it she stared face to face with her brother Duncan, David's long lost twin. He had shown up on their doorstep and told them the story of how their mother had left them years before. It had been a tearful, yet wonderful, reunion and the perfect opportunity to put David's plan into action.   
  
*******  


"How did it start?" Ben Cartwright stared at the blackened, tilting shell of what had once been his barn, unable to make sense of the loss. There hadn't been any lightening for weeks and his men were all too well trained to be careless with lanterns or cigarettes. 

Joe shook his head, reaching up to wipe some of the sweat and soot from his brow. "Too early to tell. Hoss's inside, tryin' to see if he can find any traces - got all the animals out, I think. Sure went up fast." He glanced around. "Adam not back from town yet?"

Ben frowned. "No. Late."

"Yeah. Well. Not like there's anythin' he could be doin' here except gettin' toasted with the rest of us. Musta got held up." 

"Till this hour? I'd like to know with what!"

Joe gave a knowing smile and Ben's frown deepened. "That had better NOT be it! He said he'd meet me over two hours ago…" he trailed off suddenly at the sight of one of the hands trying to round the nervous horses together and into the corral for temporary keeping. He squinted through the smudged air, focusing on one tall, high stepping chestnut, its white blaze like a flag in the darkness, who was resisting the wrangler and shaking its head restively. "Isn't that…?"

Joe followed his gaze and grinned. "Sure is! Untacked, too, so Adam's gotta be around here some…" His grin faded abruptly as he looked toward the barn, a new idea blossoming. He opened his mouth to voice his thoughts, just as Hoss emerged from what was once the barn doorway. Something in the way he was standing warned Joe even before he made out what Hoss was carrying in his hands: what was left of a charred black hat with a silver-studded band, and a familiar looking black holster. 

Hoss looked from Ben to Joe to the objects he was clutching. His face was unreadable in the light and shadow of the lanterns but his voice was chilled and hollow. "Pa…" he coughed to clear the smoke - or something else - from his throat. "We found a body."

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The idea for the fire is originally Carla Keehn's. The idea to have Adam's "body" in the fire and for the switch of clothing with the drifter was Becky Sim's.


	3. Chapter 3

Ben felt as though he was being suffocated. His heart had jumped into his throat when he heard the words, "we found a body". The ringing was growing louder in his ears, the rest of the world on hold as he took slow, steady steps while reaching for the hat and gun in his middle son's hands. 

"Pa?" Joe quietly asked, putting a comforting hand on his stunned father's shoulder. Gaining no reaction from his father, Joe's hand dropped back to his side as his father walked out from under it. Turning to Hoss he hoped for some sort of guidance. Hoss was staring at the ground unable to look into the shocked expression on his father's face. Joe looked back to his father… someone had to take the situation in hand, "Pa? Maybe you ought to go inside. Let us take care of this." 

Ben looked back towards Joe, then at Hoss and then at the items in Hoss' hands. Reaching them he let his hands rest on top, "No," he stated in a low, gruff voice. "I need to be with Adam. I need to…" and he broke into a sob as he grasped his son's items. The sobs turned bitter. "These can't be his, he was supposed to meet me… he was supposed to…" 

The sound of approaching horses caused everyone to break from the somber moment and look with hopeful eyes as the group of riders arrived. Ben didn't even bother to wipe away the tears that ran down his sun worn face. He looked up to see Roy Coffey, Virginia City's Sheriff, along with his Deputy, and several other folks from town. They were being lead by a ranch hand. Roy immediately stopped his horse and dismounted when he saw the distress in his old friend's face. 

"Ben, I came as soon as I heard. How did this happen?" the concerned Sheriff asked. 

"Adam's dead," Ben blurted in a mournful voice. 

"What?" Roy asked in disbelief. "What makes you say such a thing?" 

Ben took the still smoking hat and gun from Hoss's outstretched hands and turning, showed them to Roy. They were difficult to see in the dimmed moonlight. Roy looked down at the items, then back into the face of Ben, searching for answers. "I don't understan', what does this prove?" 

"They're Adam's," Joe stated softly. 

"It's just a gun and hat…why they could be anybody's," Roy said in hopes of this being a misunderstanding. Ben just locked his eyes on the items, somehow hoping and praying that he was wrong. Roy scanned the faces of Ben's two other sons searching for additional information. 

Joe looked to Hoss, who lowered his eyes in sorrow. 

"I wish that was true," Hoss said somberly. He looked towards his father uncomfortably, then back at the Sheriff. "His initials are on the gun and the special bible verse… the one that Adam kept tucked in the brim of his hat… it's there." 

Ben raised his head towards Hoss. He didn't know what Hoss was talking about. He handed the still-hot gun to Roy and, turning the hat over, he pulled away the softened leather, seeing a small piece of paper. He removed it from the brim, opened it, and read, "A good man is guided by his honesty, the evil man is destroyed by his dishonesty. - Proverbs 11:3". It had been the one that Ben had given to Adam when he was a young man. He felt dizzy as a sudden wave of nausea coursed through him. It WAS true, he thought as he crumpled up the piece of paper, Adam… his son…

Roy looked down at the gun he was now holding and turning it over. He saw the initials _AC_ clearly engraved in the side of the pistol. His heart tightened. "So, someone planted them in the barn," Roy stated with conviction. 

Everyone was quiet. The squeaking wheels of the buckboard as it exited the freshly charred barn caused all eyes to shift. On the back of it, a body covered by a blanket. No one dared move. Roy finally worked up the courage to go over and pull back the blanket. "Who would do such a thing?" he choked out. 

Ben slowly looked over at the Sheriff. "David Fairchild." 

"What?" Roy responded incredulously as he crossed over to stand beside his friend. "Now Ben, you're obviously upset, you don't need to be tossin' around no accusations. Especially if you aren't sure," Roy answered. 

"I'm sure," Ben stated firmly. "He told me I'd be sorry for firing him." 

Roy's eyes shifted from the men still sitting on the horses, then back to Ben. "Boys, I think you ought to take your father inside." 

Hoss and Joe started toward their father but halted with his continued speech. "I want him found and punished for this crime, Roy. I want you to arrest him," Ben stated. 

An awkward silence passed before Roy spoke. "I can't do that Ben. Besides, did you actually see him set fire to your barn?" 

Ben narrowed his eyes in anger. He couldn't figure out why Roy wasn't cooperating with his request. He knew about David's threat towards Ben and his family. He walked over to Roy and stood face to face with him. "My son is dead and I want David Fairchild arrested for the crime. Is that so hard to understand?" his tone intensifying.

Roy shifted feet, exchanged glances with his Deputy, then back at Ben. "But I've already done it." 

"What?" Ben asked with restrained frustration. 

"Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but he's already locked up in my jail. Did it myself just before I came out here. He'd been causing trouble all night at the Bucket of Blood… Sam said so. He couldn't have been the one who set your fire." 

Ben's eyes opened wide with surprise. He had been so sure it was David. 

  
TBC  
*************


	4. Chapter 4

Amelia had been standing at the window when she saw Sheriff Coffey haul Duncan off to jail. He had completely ruined the plan. He was supposed to make sure the town saw him, but he wasn't supposed to get arrested. Now how was she going to get Adam's body out of the saloon without anyone noticing. She plopped down on the bed and tried to decide what to do. David was going to be waiting for them at the ranch. He would probably figure out something went wrong when they didn't make it back before sunrise, but by then it would be too late, they needed to move Adam's body before first light. 

She heard a knocking coming from out in the hallway. Running to the door she looked into the corridor and spotted a young boy, about 14 years old, delivering a message to one of the rooms.

"Hey boy!" she called to him quietly.

The young boy turned and saw Amelia standing in her doorway motioning him towards her. The boy jerked his head back when the door he was standing in front of was answered by a large man who was busily trying to hold his pants up. "What you want boy!" he barked.

"Message for you sir," the boy squeaked.

The rough looking gold miner yanked the message from his hand and slammed the door.

"You're welcome," the boy stated sarcastically then turned back to his left. He didn't see the woman anymore. He moved slowly towards her door and was pressing his ear against it when she yanked it open. The boy, caught off guard, quickly pulled himself back and stood up straight. "Did you need me for something, ma'am?" he asked.

Amelia smiled sweetly. "Yes boy, I need you to deliver a message for me to the Fairchild ranch, do you know where that is?" she asked as she quickly scrawled out a message on a piece of paper.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "But it shore is a long way out there…"

"Yes it is, that's why I need you to move quickly," she stated as she placed a silver dollar in the palm of his hand along with the note. "I'm going to pay you half now and half when you return with my brother, is that clear?"

The boy could barely contain himself, "Oh yes ma'am! You've never seen a faster rider than me ma'am!" And he turned and ran off down the hall.

*******

Ben Cartwright refused to believe that Roy had David locked up in his jail. Moving towards the house he saddled up Buck and was insisting on riding back to town with Roy.

"Ben you need to stay here until I can question him," Roy had told him. "If you go to town I won't be letting you get anywhere near that jail, not until I'm sure you've calmed down."

Ben narrowed his eyes at the Sheriff. Roy moved towards his old friend and, placing a comforting hand around his shoulders, he led him away from the rest of the crowd. "Ben, I know you're upset, but you have other…arrangements that need to be dealt with."

Ben looked over at the wagon that contained his son's body, his heart catching in his throat.

"You know I want to catch the person responsible for this just as much as you do," Roy continued. "Please, let me handle it."

Ben dropped his head and nodded.

"Good," Roy answered as he patted Ben's shoulder a few times. Turning he walked back to the group of men that had arrived with him. "Let's mount up boys and get back to town."

The three Cartwrights watched as the Sheriff left, followed by the townspeople. There was silence as they stood absorbing the events of the evening.

It was one of the ranch hands that finally broke the silence. "Mr. Cartwright?"

Hoss turned and saw a group of four ranch hands standing beside the wagon. "What is it you want Charlie?" Hoss asked.

Charlie turned and looked to Hoss. He began to shift his feet uncomfortably. "Do you…" he shot an awkward glance towards the rest of the hands standing nearby then looked at the ground. "Do you need us to help with the body?"

Ben jerked his head up. An angry determination built up inside of him as he walked back towards the wagon. "No," Ben spoke gruffly as he brushed past Hoss and waved them all away from the wagon. "No one touches my son's body."

The ranch hands stepped back. "We don't mean no disrespect…" Charlie said.

Ben laid his hands on top of the blanket and raised an icy glare towards them. "No one touches his body but me, you hear?"

Hoss and Joe exchanged troubled glances. They had never seen their father act this way, so out of control and almost a little crazy. Hoss looked to his father then back towards the men. "You fellas go on to bed. We'll take it from here."

There was a low mumble of commentary as they turned and walked towards the bunkhouse. Hoss and Joe watched as they left, then moved to stand beside their father at the back of the wagon.

Ben continued to stare at the lifeless form under the blanket, tears glistening in his eyes. "He can't be dead," Ben whispered.

Hoss put his hand on his father's shoulder. "Pa, Joe and I can take care of this. Why don't you go in the house and get some rest."

"No," Ben mumbled. "I won't leave him. I promised him I'd never leave him." He pulled down the tailgate and sat on the edge of the wagon.

Hoss looked at Joe who shrugged and shook his head. It was obvious there'd be no talking to their father tonight. Hoss motioned Joe towards him, away from their father. "Joe, why don't you head into town and see if you can find anything out."

Joe, not wanting to leave his father's side, nodded reluctantly. "What are you going to do?"

Hoss looked over at his distraught father. "I'm going to stay here with Pa. See if I can't get him to start thinking about the arrangements. " He looked back at Joe. "Let me know what you find out, will ya?"

Joe slowly turned and pulled himself on Cochise. Pausing, he looked at his father staring down at the corpse of their brother. The pain was too much to bear. He clicked the reins and headed into town. 

********

Amelia saw Sheriff Coffee and the other townspeople as they arrived back from the Cartwright ranch. She stood in her hotel room and watched as they separated and headed home. Dropping the curtain she wheeled around and started pacing nervously. Duncan had really screwed everything up. She put her thumb to her finger and continued chewing the already ragged nail. If David didn't show up before morning than she was going to have to figure out a way to get Adam's body out of town without anyone seeing them. It wasn't going to be easy. Course, she could recruit another cowboy to help her and then kill him off like they did that drifter. She dropped her hand, debating what to do. Crossing back over to the window she looked out onto the street and saw the Sheriff and Deputy standing outside talking. The Sheriff turned and entered his office leaving his assistant to guard the front. She needed to find out what had happened at the Cartwrights'. She grabbed her drawstring purse and headed over to the jail.

As she approached the Deputy she decided that the best tactic was just to demand to see her brother, how could they refuse to let her see him?

"Hold it Miss Amelia," the Deputy said as he held up his rifle to prevent her from passing.

Amelia stepped back. "Deputy, I'd like to see my brother."

"Sorry, but no one's allowed to go in there till the Sheriff finishes questioning him," he stated.

"Questioning him?" she cried. "About what? What's he done?"

"Can't tell you miss, you'll have to wait for the Sheriff to tell you," he responded.

"Well, certainly he wasn't referring to his own family," she questioned, her voice growing louder.

"The Sheriff told me no one was to enter and that means no one," Clem stated firmly.

Amelia was getting frustrated. "I want to see my brother!" she hollered as she stepped forward, but was blocked by the insistent Deputy.

"What's going on out here?" Sheriff Coffey questioned as he walked out onto the office porch.

"Good evenin' Sheriff," Amelia called out. "I'd like to see my brother and this… Deputy of yours won't let me in."

"Well, Miss Amelia, I'm kind of in the middle of questioning him. You think you could wait a few more minutes while I finish up?" Roy asked kindly.

Amelia wrinkled her nose in frustration. "I guess I'll have to." She moved and sat on the bench that was just outside the office door.

"Thank you ma'am. Clem here will keep you company," Roy stated with a smile, and disappeared back into his office.

Amelia shot him an angry look as she crossed her arms over her chest. "That won't be necessary." She turned and walked away. "Tell the Sheriff he can find me at the saloon!" she called over her shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

Amelia stormed into the saloon and flung herself against the counter. "Whiskey, Sam," she said abruptly. "And leave the bottle."

Sam put down the glass he was polishing and eyed her riding habit consideringly. "You off duty, 'Melia?"

"Yes, if it's any of your business," she snapped in return.

Sam shrugged. "Just thought I saw you go upstairs with that Cartwright boy. Didn't expect you back so soon."

Amelia flushed. Surely she wasn't the last person seen with Adam? David was supposed to come back downstairs dressed in Adam's clothes so witnesses would think he had left! Those brothers of hers were worthless - couldn't seem to follow a plan without messing it up! "He had to leave," she answered abruptly. "You know Adam Cartwright - business before pleasure. Had to meet his old man or something."

"Yeah," Sam grinned knowingly. "Guess I must have missed him leaving. You drowning your sorrows?"

Amelia scorched him with a look and, snatching up her bottle and glass, threw herself into a nearby chair and downed a shot. She ignored Sam's chuckle in response. 

Halfway down the bottle she still had no word from Deputy Clem and was running out of ideas. What could she do now? She couldn't possibly move Adam herself and he wasn't going to stay drugged forever, either. When he came to and figured out what she had done…she shuddered at the possibilities and downed another shot. If he woke up and started to make noise it would ruin everything - almost before they got started. A burned barn was the worst they would be able to inflict on old man Cartwright then and she had counted on more…she remembered Adam's recumbent form and sighed deeply. So much more. _No._ She would NOT lose - would not give up so easily! Not after she had waited so long. 

She jumped to her feet, hardly noticing that she knocked over the chair. She would check on Adam and see that he stayed unconscious, then she would go and MAKE the Sheriff let her see her brother! She pushed through the batwing doors and almost ran down a figure hovering on the other side of them. She was about to tell him to watch where he was going when she noticed he was waving a piece of paper at her. It puzzled her, until she realized that it was the same boy she had sent to fetch David. She snatched the paper from his hand.

"Hey!" he said indignantly. "You promised me another half dollar!"

Mumbling to herself, Amelia fumbled through her pockets and thrust the coin at him, carrying the note over to the lantern lighting the doorway of the Bucket of Blood and trying to read. "Dear Amelia," it read. "Following this kid with a wagon. Meet me behind the Bucket of Blood and we'll transport our goods as planned."

Amelia gasped in relief. She hurried down the alley and around the back of the building, peering into the shadows. The rear entrance was mostly planned for quick escapes by guilty husbands and was never well lit. "David?" she called softly. She almost screamed when a hand came out of the darkness and clasped her arm. "Don't do that!" she hissed, when she recognized the body at the other end of the arm. She could see the flash of his teeth in the darkness.

"'Fraidy cat. Where is he?"

"Upstairs - my room. I have the key, so we should be all right." She lead the way up the rickety back staircase, ignoring the sounds of revelry that filtered faintly from the rooms along the way. She paused outside her door to listen, but no sounds came from inside. After a minute she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door inward. In the faint glow of the moon she could see that Adam lay just as she had left him, still and unmoving under the quilt, his breathing heavy from the drug, his face upturned and bathed in moonlight. She couldn't resist the urge to twine her fingers in the tumbled black curls on his forehead and smooth them back, lingering around the soft curve of one ear. She might have done more, but David's snort of amusement stopped her.

"Save it," he grunted, pushing past her into the room. "You get those drifter's clothes on him?" He pulled the quilt down to see for himself, nodding in satisfaction when he saw that she had. He studied the way she had tied the rope to one of Adam's wrists, drawn the rope under the bed and then tied it to the other, leaving him confined, but not visibly so. "Neat," he drawled. "Do this often in your line o' work?"

Amelia made a face at him and he chuckled. Deftly, he slipped a knife under the rope that tied one wrist and cut him free, pulling the rest of the rope from under the bed and leaving it tied to the other wrist. He tied the two wrists together in front instead.

"Not so tight!" Amelia protested. "You'll cut off his circulation."

"He won't be needing it." He bent down and hefted the long body over his shoulders, standing carefully. "Damn, he's heavy. Get the door." They made slow progress down the narrow, winding stairs.

"David!" Amelia winced as she heard David stumble and slam Adam into the wall. "Would you be careful?"

"You try carrying him," he retorted snidely. "'Sides, he's out - what's the big deal?" He gave a gasp of relief as they finally exited into the alley, Amelia hovering nearby like a mother hen. "Pull that canvas back, will you?" He indicated the canvas draped over the wagon bed with a nod of his head. Amelia obediently dragged the canvas back and David dropped his burden none too gently into the back with a sigh. Adam moaned faintly and stirred. "Damn." Without missing a beat, David drew his fist back and slammed it into the underside of Adam's chin. Adam lay still again. 

Amelia gave a muffled shriek. "Are you crazy? What did you do that for?"

David shrugged. "He was comin' round. 'Sides…" He contemplated the now quiet figure stretched before him with an expression Amelia couldn't quite read, but which made her uncomfortable. "Always wanted to do that. Owe him some."

Amelia reached into the wagon bed, running her fingertip lightly over Adam's lips, then along the edge of his lashes. "You leave him alone," she said sternly. "Don't mess him up. He's mine."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to work for him, did you? Didn't have to hear him give orders like he was better than everybody else."

Amelia ran her hand down Adam's cheek to his neck and then let it rest on his chest, just where his collar opened. "He's mine," she repeated firmly. "Don't you go damaging him. I get him - it was part of the deal."

David pushed her firmly out of the way, pulling the canvas up over Adam's head. "Now, don't you worry, 'Melia - I won't ruin your fun. Just intend to make sure he knows his place. I'm due a little fun of my own, too, I reckon."

Amelia studied him uneasily, her eyes drifting back to the wagon bed. David took her decidedly by the hand and turned her toward the alley. "You go back and talk to Duncan. See what you can do to spring him. I'll take good care of Mr. High and Mighty."

"David - "

He shrugged her hand off. "Go on - before they get suspicious. I'll see you back at the ranch."

Joe slowed Cochise to a bright trot as he entered the outskirts of Virginia City. He wasn't really sure, upon reflection, exactly what he expected to do here - he only knew that he had to do something besides stay at the ranch and pace. Maybe he could find out a few things, anyway - that fire out at the ranch had been started by somebody, that was for sure, and for the price of a few drinks someone might be able to tell him something about that. There was David Fairchild in jail, too - maybe he wasn't personally guilty, but that didn't mean he hadn't hired someone to do his dirty work for him - talking to him might bear some fruit. And maybe he could find someone who had seen Adam and knew when he had left town so he could start to put the pieces together of what had happened. It just didn't make sense that Sport had gotten clear of the barn and Adam hadn't - not with horses reacting to fire the way they did - not unless there had been foul play of some kind. Why, Adam…a bubble of pain rose in his chest and he tried to swallow it down again. No. He wouldn't think of that right now. He couldn't. It was ridiculous - impossible to believe that…he pulled Cochise to in front of a saloon and swung hastily out of the saddle. Later. He'd think about that later.

Sam was wiping down the bar as he entered and Joe ordered a whiskey and leaned against the counter, his eyes glancing around the room. The whiskey warmed his insides somewhat and steadied his voice. "Hey, Sam. How are things?"

Sam obligingly refilled his glass. "'Bout the same, Joe. How are things with you? Busy I guess, huh?"

Joe was silent. "Yeah," he agreed quietly after a brief internal struggle. 

"Your brother sure left here in a hurry. Business before pleasure is what 'Melia says."

Joe stiffened. "What?" he managed to ask at last.

"Your brother. Adam. Was with 'Melia Fairchild earlier, but she says he left in a hurry. Must have, since he left this behind. Maybe you can give it to him for me?" He pulled a velvet string bag from under the counter and placed it next to Joe's glass. Joe just stared at it, and Sam laughed self-consciously. "Oh, not the bag, o' course - I'm guessin' 'Melia left that behind…" he stretched open the neck of the bag and tumbled the contents on top of the bar, sorting through small change and handkerchiefs and a scent bottle and pushing a round object toward Joe. "I suppose it must have fell out of his pocket when he…" he cleared his throat delicately. "'Melia was probably keepin' it for him."

Joe stared at the small watch, his mind crowded with pictures of Adam pulling it out and checking it - on the trail, on the range, in a saloon - even fishing, though he and Hoss had teased him mercilessly about it. Always so conscious of all he the things wanted to do and accomplish running a breathless race against the swiftly fleeting time… 

Joe's heart squeezed within him. It had seemed funny then, but who could have known how little time he really had to waste? He felt the moisture pool in his eyes and reached clumsily for the timepiece to cover it, popping the lid. 

__

To my son Adam, on his sixteenth birthday, he read. That snapped the thin thread of his control, and this time the tears slid, unheeded, down his cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

Amelia glanced around suspiciously as she exited from the alleyway behind the saloon. She needed to get into the jail and see Duncan. The deputy was still sitting outside the jail with his legs propped up against the post and his chair tilted back on its hind legs. She straightened her riding jacket, stiffened her body and made her way towards the jail.

"Good evening, AGAIN, deputy," Amelia said coldly.

Clem, who was busy whittling a piece of wood, dropped himself and stood up. "Miss Amelia." He tipped his hat. "I thought the Sheriff said we'd come and find you when you could see your brother."

"I KNOW what the Sheriff said, but it's been long enough. I DEMAND to see my brother."

"Well ma'am, as I told you before, I have my orders." Clem started to sit back down. "I'm sure it won't be much longer."

Amelia could hear the sounds of the wagon coming from the alleyway behind her. A feeling of panic radiated through her. Shooting a quick glance over her left shoulder she had to think quick. Bursting into fake tears she fumbled around for her purse. "Oh deputy, would you please check and see how much longer, David's the only family I have. I just got to get in there and see him."

Clem, not able to resist the tears of any woman, jumped up and moved towards her. "Don't cry, Miss Amelia. I'll go check for you, just please don't cry," he pleaded. "Here, use this until I get back. I won't be long, I promise." Clem handed her his dirty handkerchief and went inside the prison to find Sheriff Coffee.

Amelia pretended to hold the dirty rag to her face covering the wicked smile underneath. She could hear the voices from inside as Sheriff Coffee insisted that she'd have to keep waiting. Well, Amelia needed to find something out now. She turned and saw David moving the wagon off onto a nearby back street that would take him and their prisoner to a little used road that led back to the ranch. Turning back towards the Sheriff's office she could still hear the two men arguing. Clem was insisting that the Sheriff be the one to tell her she still couldn't see her brother. Frustrated, Amelia decided to take the matter into her own hands. Scanning the abandoned streets she made her way to the alleyway behind the jail. She was going to talk to her brother, one way or another.

"Duncan, can you hear me?" she whispered.

A voice called back, "Amelia? That you?"

Amelia searched around for something to stand on so she could talk with him face to face. She spied an old crate off to the side and slid it over in front of the window. Climbing up on it she peered inside the cell. "Are you okay?" she called to him.

Duncan stood up and moved towards the window, tossing nervous glances over his shoulder. "Won't they let you come in and see me?"

Amelia shook her head. "They told me they were questioning you. How could you be so stupid! You were just supposed to be seen, not arrested. Have you told them anything?"

Duncan stepped up into the window. "Nothin' to tell. They keep pumping me for information about the Cartwrights, but I don't know what they're talking about. Am I supposed to?"

"No," Amelia shot back. "They're trying to frame you for something you didn't do. Ben Cartwright thinks he's so high and mighty he can control anyone he wants." She jumped down from the crate and slid it back where she found it.

"Where you goin?"

"I have to take care of some stuff. I'll be back." She straightened her hair. "You sit tight and I'll get you out as soon as I can."

Joe grabbed the pocket watch and tightly clutched it in his hand. He stumbled blindly through the saloon and out onto the front porch. The harsh banging of the bat wing doors echoed loudly in his ears as he hugged the front post trying to catch his breath, the heavy weight pressing harder and harder against his chest. As he opened his hand, Joe re-read the inscription so lovingly chosen for his brother's treasured watch. A quick flash of visions burst through his mind, his legs weakening, and before he knew it he had collapsed to his knees on the ground. His uncontrolled sobbing was muffled by his hands as he pressed them tightly against his face. 

The sound of loud voices coming from across the street caused him to pause. Slowly raising his head he peered off towards the Sheriff's office.

"Don't cry, Miss Amelia. I'll go check for you, just please don't cry," Clem said then went inside.

Joe watched as Amelia took the handkerchief, looked over her shoulder, and then ran to the alley behind the jail. She must be going to talk to her brother. Well, Joe needed to talk to her. He ran the sleeve of his green jacket across his eyes and nose, dropped the watch into his inside pocket and quickly made his way towards the jail. Roy had warned them about trying to talk to David Fairchild, but he was going to talk to Amelia. From what he could tell, she had been the last one to see Adam alive. As he approached the alley he could hear two voices so he decided it might be best to wait for her as she exited. Joe leaned up against the wall, arms crossed, hat kicked back and waited in the shadows. It wasn't long before she came tearing around the corner mumbling to herself.

"Hello, Amelia," he spoke up.

Amelia, startled by the voice, let out a small shriek. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Joe stepped from the shadows. "I want to talk to you."

"Joe Cartwright. Well, I'm kind of busy right now," she seethed. "As you probably know my brother's in jail and they won't let me see him." She forced out more fake tears.

Joe moved forward and grabbed her arm forcefully. "Well, as you probably know, MY brother's dead and you were the last one to see him."

Amelia froze as she heard him say the words. "D…d…dead? He just left me a few hours ago. Said he had to get back to the ranch to meet your father."

"Well, maybe you'd just like to tell the Sheriff that." Joe grabbed her arm again and dragged her towards Roy's office. He didn't even pause to deal with Clem, just forced his way in the front door, Amelia in tow.

Roy was sitting behind his desk drinking coffee and studying some papers when the pair barged in. Standing, the Sheriff set his cup down. "Miss Amelia, we was just comin' to get you so's you could talk to your brother. And Joe Cartwright, you should be at the ranch with your family."

Joe roughly released the woman. "I needed to find some things out, and I did. Tell him, Amelia."

Roy turned his gaze towards the aggravated woman. "Tell me what?"

"Tell him you were the last person to see my brother alive," Joe answered.

"Sheriff, I don't know what the hell is going on, but I just wanted to see my brother and then HE comes along and starts manhandling me. I want to press charges! Can I do that?"

"Now settle down, you two, and tell me what in blazes is goin' on?" Roy asked.

"You tell ME, Sheriff!" Amelia blurted out, the tears again freely flowing. "My brother's in jail for fighting at the saloon, but he tells me you're questioning him about the Cartwrights. Joe says Adam's dead. Well, that's impossible. He just left me a couple of hours ago. He was fine then."

"I see," Roy answered. "Well, why don't you go and talk to your brother for a bit."

Amelia grunted in frustration and walked through the door to the jail. Joe tried to follow but Roy put his arm out and stopped him. "Now, you hold on young fella. We need to talk." He motioned towards the chair and Joe, obviously frustrated, finally plopped himself down. Roy leaned against the edge of his desk. "What are you tryin' to do, son? That ain't no proof."

"But she…"

"She said she saw him a couple of hours ago." Roy placed a firm hand on Joe's shoulder. "Don't make this any harder, boy. Your father and brother need you right now." Joe looked up into the concerned eyes of their old family friend. "You need to make the arrangements. You want me to go with you over to Sylvester's?"

Joe lowered his head and shook it sadly. Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out the watch and handed it to Roy. "Ask her why she had this on her, will ya? Adam never went anywhere without it." Joe stood up.

"Joe? We're going to find who did this, I promise," Roy said softly.

The youngest Cartwright nodded, tossed a glance towards the jail then walked slowly out the door.

Roy shook his head and looked down at the watch. That did seem a might peculiar she would have Adam's watch. He remembered when Adam had received it from his father; a boy couldn't have been more pleased.

Amelia exited from the back of the jail. "Is he gone?"

"He's gone, Miss." Roy held up the watch by its chain. "You recognize this?"

Amelia did. It was the watch that had been in her purse. Her purse! She must have left it in the saloon when she was talking to Sam. Even she was getting careless with their cover-up. "Yeah. What of it?"

"How did it come to be in your possession?" Roy questioned.

"Well, I told you he was in a hurry. He dropped it and I was just holding it for him until I saw him again," she quickly replied.

"Did he say why he was in such a hurry?" Roy pressed.

"Listen, Sheriff, I didn't have anything to do with his death, nor did my brother. Why don't you tell ME what happened so that maybe I can help you find those that are REALLY responsible," she answered.

Roy nodded his head and placed the watch on his desk, "Alright, I will. There was a fire out at the Ponderosa earlier this evening. Burned down the entire barn. We found a body, Adam's hat and gun. We also found his horse singed. Know of anybody that might want to see Adam Cartwright dead?"

Amelia had to struggle to suppress her smile: their plan had worked. Cleverly, she turned her laughing into sobs. "And Ben Cartwright thinks that my brother set that fire?" she narrowed her eyes. "Ever since he fired my brother he's accused us of causing harm to them one way or another. When is it going to stop!" She blew her nose on the Deputy's dirty handkerchief. "Why aren't you out there looking for the REAL killer instead of wasting your time on this…this witch hunt!?"

"I'm just investigating all possibilities," Roy responded coolly. "That's my job." He stood up and moved back behind his desk. "You can pick your brother up in the morning, after you've paid his fine."

Wiping her eyes, Amelia turned to leave. "Thank you Sheriff. I'll be back." She paused before exiting. "By the way, did Joe mention when the funeral would be?"

"I think it'd be best if you just stayed clear of the Cartwrights for a while. You wouldn't be a welcome sight, especially at Adam's funeral," Roy offered.

"I promise I'll be discreet," Amelia replied, and walked out the door.

Roy shook his head and rolled his eyes. At least he'd be there if there was any trouble.


	7. Chapter 7

Joe returned to the ranch in a chastened state of mind. As much as he had been seething, longing to question the Fairchilds further, his visit to Sylvester to make final arrangements had made him feel increasingly that Roy was right - he was needed at home. Pa needed him and Hoss shouldn't be trying to look after Pa by himself. 

He dismounted in the front yard, trying not to look at the burnt out shell that had been their barn. The house looked dark - Hoss must still be in the old carriage house with Pa. It would make a decent place to house Cochise for the night, anyway. He started for the carriage house, pulling Cochise behind him. He heard a soft nicker as he approached the door and peered through the darkness to look. His heart turned over. _Sport_. 

He reached out a shaky hand and stroked the soft muzzle. Sport dug his nose into his palm, looking for treats - or maybe just comfort. Joe patted his cheek. "I know, boy," he whispered softly. "I miss him, too. But somebody took good care of you, huh? Hoss, I'll bet. Well, that's what he would have wanted…" He felt the tears rise in his throat again and swallowed stubbornly. "Know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna leave Cochise right here to keep you company." He patted Cochise lightly. "I'll be back to clean you up, girl - gotta see to Hoss and Pa first."

He gave both horses a final pat, pleased to see them nudging noses inquisitively, and pushed back the door to the carriage house. The interior was dimly lit by a lantern turned low, and in the dusky shadows he could see the wagon that held Adam's body and the massive silhouette that was his brother Hoss, leaning back on a bench with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"Hoss?" he called softly.

He saw Hoss's head jerk up. "Ssshh…" He pointed to a figure he had missed earlier, slumped against the side of the wagon.

Joe frowned. "What's - oh, Hoss - " he was appalled. "He shouldn't be tryin' to sleep out here in the cold with a dead body - let's get him inside."

"Leave him be, Joe." Hoss's voice sounded flat and tired.

"But - " Joe sputtered.

"I said, leave it. It's where he wants to be. Let him be here."

Joe opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it abruptly. After a second he nodded, dropping down beside Hoss. He didn't feel any real desire to be anywhere else himself. 

"You find out anythin' in town?"

"Sort of," Joe rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Found Adam's watch."

"Huh," he heard Hoss shift next to him. "That's good. Pa'll like ta have that. Not now, mebbe - but by and by."

Joe noticed he didn't ask what Adam's watch was doing in town and tried to see his face better in the dimness. "How are you doin'?"

"Me?" Hoss's voice sounded unutterably weary. "Danged if I know."

"Yeah." Joe leaned back and felt his back crack. "I know what you mean."

"It's funny, Joe…" Hoss turned toward him, and Joe could half make out his face in the shadows. "Ain't a minute o' my life I ain't knowed Adam. I mean, he's always been there fer me - it's one o' them things I always been able ta count on. Even when he was in Boston, so far away, I figgered if I ever needed him, somehow he'd be here - swimmin' the Ohio if he had to, but somehow or other, I knew he'd always find a way ta be here fer me." He sighed. "Sounds sorta crazy, I guess."

"No," Joe shook his head in the darkness. "No it doesn't. Sounds right. True." 

"An I reckon I always had this idee - that - well - if anythin' ever happened ta him, I'd know it - I'd know if he was dead er alive. An here I am, sittin' an' tryin' ta feel he's dead, an' you know what? I just cain't do it. Jest don't seem real somehow. Somehow I jest keep feelin' he's out there an' alive, if only I knew where ta look."

Joe swallowed quickly, putting his hand on Hoss's big knee. "I think maybe it's just the shock, Hoss," he said timidly.

Hoss nodded sadly. "Prob'ly." He let his large paw fall on top of Joe's. "Seems funny ta say, seein' as there ain't - " he paused, shut his eyes tight. " - weren't - "he corrected himself " - nothin' feminine about Adam, but - well - 'fore your Ma came around? He was about the closest thing I had to a Ma. Always looked out fer me."

Joe felt the tears rush to the surface again. Adam had always looked out for him, too, but he had had Hoss as well - two big brothers to look out for him. Not that one was any substitute for the other, but now Hoss had _no_ big brother. The thought almost cracked his heart in two. 

"I'll look out for you, Hoss," he offered in a small voice.

The hand tightened on his. "I know that, Shortshanks. Thanks."

They sat quietly together, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness. 

Joe sniffed and reached up with his free hand to smudge the tears out of his eyes. 

"He's really gone, Hoss," he whispered, as the truth seemed to finally sink in and stick. "Adam's gone. What are we gonna do?" 

Hoss released Joe's hand and rubbed between his shoulder blades instead. "I don't know, brother," he answered softly. "I jest don't know."

Amelia pulled her horse up short in front of the Fairchild ranch, fuming with frustration. Nothing had gone exactly as planned - Duncan was still in jail and Joe Cartwright was looking at her as though he suspected something. Not that he could prove anything, of course - in fact, if she played her cards just right, she might even be able to come across as the innocent, tormented victim. That thought brought a smile to her face and she stepped up onto the front porch in a better frame of mind. 

"David!" she called as she entered. Now, where had he gotten off to? Those brothers of hers were getting mighty hard to keep track of! "David?" She made her way from the main room into the kitchen, found David busy chewing an apple while uncorking a bottle of whiskey. She frowned at the whiskey. "Where did you put him?"

David swallowed the bite of apple, measuring his whiskey meticulously. "Get Duncan out?"

Amelia sighed in exasperation. "No, but probably tomorrow if we pay the fine. Didn't you hear me? I asked where you put him!"

"Oh," David shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "Root cellar, just like we said."

Amelia narrowed her gaze at him, then kicked away the rag rug that covered the root cellar door and pulled on the loop of rope that comprised the handle to open it. She peered downward into the darkness. "Didn't you leave him a lantern?"

"He's out cold - what's he need a lantern for?"

"In case he comes to! Really, David!" Going to the pantry, she pulled out a lantern and lit it. "I'm going down to look - and he'd better be okay!"

David sneered. "Oh, he's just fine. Don't know why you make such a fuss about him, 'Melia."

Amelia tossed him a cold look, then gathered her skirts around her knees and descended the ladder to the root cellar. David took another bite of his apple. 

There was a pause, then a shriek. "David! What have you done!"

David grinned around the bite of apple and lowered himself into the root cellar in a leisurely fashion. "What? Just hung him up with the rest of the vegetables."

Amelia was standing, staring in horror at a row of hooks from which dangled neat groupings of dried onions, peppers, sausages, apples…and Adam. She jumped, trying futilely to reach the ropes that were looped around the hook thrust up between his bound hands. "You were supposed to put him on the pallet!" she sputtered. "Cut him down!"

David leaned against the wall. "Cut him down yourself, if you want it so bad. Just don't expect me to stand by to catch him. I've had my fill of carting him around for today."

"David!" Amelia studied Adam, biting her lip. Sagging in unconsciousness, the tips of his boots just brushed the ground. She hesitated. It would be a hard fall if she just plain cut the ropes. She noticed something else and frowned more deeply, lifting the lantern to study a darkening bruise on his left cheekbone. "And what's this? Did you hit him again?"

David took another bite of apple. "He was startin' to come round."

"Already? Why didn't you give him some of the drug, then?"

David shrugged. "Didn't know where you kept it."

Amelia ground her teeth. "It's in the pantry and you know it!"

"Huh." David's expression was indifferent, but his eyes glittered in the lantern light. "Guess I forgot."

Amelia cupped her hand under Adam's chin and lifted his head. His eyelashes flickered, but his eyes remained closed. She reached up to stroke the back of his neck and pulled her hand away in surprise. "And what's this?" she demanded after a second.

"What's what?" David managed to sound bored and amused at the same time. 

"He's bleeding! What did you do to him?"

"Might have dropped him coming down the ladder. Told you he was heavy."

Amelia stuck her lip out, trying to assess the damage, her fingers finding a lump with a slash of broken skin over it under his hair on the back of his head. "You always did ruin all my nice things!" she wailed.

"Oh, don't be such a baby." David tossed the apple core away. "If you think a couple of bumps and bruises are gonna do him in, then you don't know much about him. I've seen him take more on a normal day on the range. That junk you keep spooning down him will kill him faster than a little tumble down a ladder."

Amelia glared at him. "Did you at least give him some water?"

"Hm," David looked thoughtful. "Now, I might've forgot that."

With a small cry of rage, Amelia tore off the bottom ruffle of her petticoat and dipped it in the water barrel in the corner. Returning to Adam, she carefully began to scrub the blood off of his neck, then pressed the wet cloth against the lump. He gasped a slight intake of breath, then a faint sigh, but didn't open his eyes. She re-wet the cloth, then held it against his bruised cheek for a minute. He mumbled softly. She couldn't make out the words, but the tone was thankful. She paused. That had never occurred to her - that Adam might be grateful for her succor. She stroked his face for a moment, enjoying the sand-papery feel of the beginnings of his beard against her fingers. David's small abuses might be a means to an end, if they made Adam grateful to her - created the bond with him she had always dreamed of having. She returned once more to the water barrel, this time lifting the wet cloth to Adam's lips. Even semi-conscious, he sucked at it, greedy for the bit of moisture - then he went limp again and was quiet. 

Amelia stood in front of him, running her thumb along his jaw line. After a minute, she unbuttoned his shirt methodically and slid her hands over the silky curls that covered his chest.

"I guess it's all right," she said slowly, "As long as you're careful and don't go too far. I don't want you to mess him up. He's not one of those rabbits you used to catch in your traps and do things to when you were little, you know."

David grinned at her. "That's right," he said genially. "He's not. He's bigger."


	8. Chapter 8

"Pa, when is my ma coming back? Inger's gone to be with my ma, hasn't she? Don't worry Pa, I'll take care of little Joe. Pa, you worry too much, I'll be back. I'm only going to college. I'll be home early, Pa, I'm just headed into town to run a few errands and then I'll be back in time to meet you so we can finish up those lumber contracts. I promise." "The barn's on fire!" "I found Sport on the road." "His initials are on the gun and the special bible verse… the one that Adam kept tucked in the brim of his hat… it's there." The charred body in the wagon. The heat of the flames, warm against his face. "I'll be back, Pa, I promise. I promise, Pa, I promise." The heat. It's just so warm.

"Adam!" 

"I'll be back, Pa, I promise, Pa, I promise." 

Ben's own voice awoke him. The warmth of the morning sun streaming in through the carriage house window beating hot against his face. He rubbed his eyes trying to recall the previous day's course of events. The Fire. Oh God, the fire. Turning to his right he looked at the form that was outlined by the blanket. Ben placed his hand against it and bowed his head. He felt a sob catch in his throat, the tears stinging his eyes. He slowly raised his head and cleared his throat, spying his other two sons across the way leaning against each other fast asleep. They must have been there all night. His mind was in a haze, his heart tight, his emotions spent. He retracted his hand and rubbed the beard that was starting to grow. He'd have to make the arrangements. Turning to once again look at the figure in the wagon he felt a sudden rise of nausea. Running quickly to the door Ben barely made it around the corner before emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. As he knelt there trying to collect himself he started to quietly sob, his body shaking violently. A gentle hand touched his back. 

"Here Missa Cartlight, you drink this," the soft voice of Hop Sing said. "It make stomach feel betta. It make you feel betta." 

Ben slowly raised his head and saw the mug of hot liquid being held in front of him. Reaching forward he took the cup and started to drink slowly. When he had finished he handed the cup to the Chinese cook and sat down on the ground. "Thank you Hop Sing." Several moments passed as the two sat in silence. 

"I go back inside. Start breakfast," Hop Sing said turning to leave. 

"My son is gone," Ben choked. "Hop Sing, Adam is dead." 

The oriental man paused and bowed his head. "I know. Heart weeps for Missa Adam, too." 

"I don't know if I can bury him," Ben said somberly. "I've buried three wives and now…" his voice cracked as he choked back another sob. 

"You no worry, Missa Cartlight," Hop Sing replied confidently. "We make through this, together. As family. Now, I go make breakfast. You take all time you need." 

Ben dropped his head and let the tears flow freely down his face.   
  
****** 

Amelia shoved the nutmeg out of the way, locating the powdery drug that her and her brother had purchased from the China man in Virginia City. He had promised that it would help her sleep for hours. He did caution her of the side effects if she took too much. Amelia smiled wickedly as she poured the substance into a tin cup. 

"Are you through playing nursemaid, yet?" the sarcastic tone of her brother called out to her. "I'm hungry. When are you going to fix my breakfast?" 

"In a minute!" she yelled back. "I'm gettin' somethin', all right! Just leave me alone!" 

"I know what you're gettin'," he commented playfully as she exited the pantry. "You're makin' a special cocktail, huh? A Ponderosa surprise, perhaps?" David took a large bite from an apple as he delighted in his own remark. 

Amelia let out a disgusted sigh and crossed the room to the water pump. "You're so stupid, David," she laughed as she filled the cup. 

"What did you say?" David responded as he sprung from his chair sending it back onto the floor. 

Amelia realized her mistake too late. "Nothing, David. I didn't say anything." 

"Yes you did," he seethed as he approached her. He leaned into her right ear. "You said I was stupid."

She laughed uncomfortably. "No I didn't. I said…" 

He grabbed Amelia's shoulder, spun her around and backhanded her across the face. "You never say that about me again, you hear?" 

Amelia reached up and stroked her abused cheek. "I'm sorry, David, I didn't mean…" 

David pressed his index finger against her chest, lowering his voice. "Let's get one thing straight, dear sister, this whole scheme was thought of by ME. I'm the brains behind this operation and don't you forget it." 

Amelia slowly nodded. She could see that look of evil dancing in her brother's eyes. It made her uncomfortable. "I won't," she whispered. 

David moved back across the room grabbing the chair from the floor and forcefully standing it upright. "All right then." He plopped himself back down. "I don't know what you see in Adam Cartwright, anyway. You ask me, he's a pompous jackass." 

Amelia didn't respond. She was afraid she might rile him up again. David had never hit her before and it concerned her. She had believed they were in this together. She prayed it was just the stress. "Can I take this to him?" She held up the half full tin cup. 

David seemed to have regained his composure. "Yes, you may. And then you need to go into town and spring Duncan." 

Amelia nodded as she made her way back down into the root cellar. When she got to the bottom she saw that Adam was still knocked out from the previous night's abuse. She pushed the metal cup to his lips trying to force him to drink. Eventually he stirred slightly taking a few, very small sips. Amelia set the cup on a barrel and then continued to dress his wounds to the best of her ability. "I'm sorry, Adam, but it's just the way it's got to be." 

Adam stirred, his eyes opening into slits trying to focus on the woman before him. "'Melia?" he slurred in a scratchy voice. "Your face." 

She reached up and stroked the purple bruise on her face, a deceitful idea progressing in her head. This would be her finest performance. "He's crazy, Adam," she breathed with panic in her voice. "I tried to stop him but now he's after us both. Says we can never be together. But he's wrong, Adam. When two people are in love like us they deserve to be together." 

"Love? Where are…" 

"Oh Adam, I don't know. I'm trying to help you all I can, but if David finds out…" she whispered as she looked around nervously. 

"David?" His mind was trying to make sense of her information. 

"You got sick. I tried to help, but David kidnapped you instead. You're hurt pretty badly." She turned and picked up the cup of water again. "Here, drink this." She held it to his lips and he drank it. "We have to get your strength back up. That's good. You'll be well in no time," she said with a smile. 

Adam finished the water and tried to speak again, but instead he passed out. 

"Amelia!" David called out from upstairs, "I'm hungry! Get up here and fix me some breakfast before you go into town!" 

Amelia wrinkled her brow in anger. She turned towards Adam and ran her fingers through his sweaty, raven hair. Kissing her fingers she placed them on his lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can, lover." 


	9. Chapter 9

One…two…three…four…

"Adam!"

Five…six…seven…eight…

"ADAM!"

Nine…ten…

"ADAM! Time to come in, son! Adam!"

Adam paused, letting the rope swing twist around. Pa was calling…must be time for dinner…He let the rope swing sway.

"ADAM!" the voice repeated insistently. "Adam! Come home! It's time to come home!"

Adam moved to jump down from the knot at the bottom of the swing, but the rope became entangled in his arms in some way, restraining him. He swung dizzily, caught, struggling to free himself. 

"Adam!" The voice sounded farther away now and Adam felt a surge of panic. Pa was leaving without him! He had to get free! He yanked desperately at his wrists where they were trapped by the rope, but it clung to him, almost like a living thing, preventing his escape. "Adam…" Pa's voice was faint and far away now and Adam's struggles became frantic. He had to get free…he couldn't let Pa go off and forget him…

"PA?" The sound of his own voice woke him with a start and he hung for a moment, confused and disoriented, swinging gently. A dream? But…he struggled to pry his eyes apart, had a quick glimpse of dark shapes wheeling by him at a rapid rate, closed them again hastily. No. That would only make him sick. He reached out with one foot to stop the swinging, but his toe barely brushed the ground - not nearly enough to stop and stabilize him. He hung as still as he could manage, trying to get his bearings. Where…? He didn't risk opening his eyes again, but he reached out with his other senses, aware of damp and musty smells and some other familiar aromas his groggy mind couldn't quite separate and place, a faint, pervasive chill in the air, a slight draught against his bare chest. That prickled at his mind, too. Why would his chest be…? Where was his shirt? He gradually became aware of the tickling of his sleeves on his arms, so his shirt must not be gone, just open. He swallowed. His throat was dry and raw. A peculiar numbness weighted him, but through it he could feel the burning in his arms and back and shoulders, overburdened too long bearing all his weight. He wiggled his fingers, trying to get a hand hold, felt something long and sharp between them and tried to grasp it to pull himself up and relieve some of the awful pressure on his wrists. His fingers slipped, wet and slick with sweat…or something else…and his weight jerked against the ropes again, sawing deeply into his wrists, causing him to cry out before he could stop himself. The pain was nauseating and he swallowed hard against it, trying to lubricate his dusty throat, trying not to vomit. 

__

Be still. That seemed to be his only option. Be very still and try to figure out what the hell…he tried to forget about the pain in his wrists and arms for a moment and take inventory. His head felt slow and heavy, throbbing somewhere just below the level of consciousness, his cheek was stiff, as if bruised - but he couldn't make out any serious injuries. A lot of discomfort, an appalling feeling of helplessness…but he seemed more or less whole. So far. He tried to open his eyes again. 

It was too dark to make out much - some indistinct shapes - and before he could let his eyes adjust he found he needed to close them against the dizziness again. _What on earth was the matter with him?_ He had some distant memory, way at the back of his mind, of someone telling him he was sick…he sighed a little. That made some sense. He felt sick enough. But why would he be hanging…? WAS he hanging…? Or was this just another dream…? 

__

Kidnapped. He opened his eyes in surprise at the memory, then had to close them quickly again. If he hadn't dreamed it, someone had said…Amelia. He let out a gasp of relief. Amelia Fairchild. That he remembered, a little bit - Amelia Fairchild - he had been with her - he had…passed out, he thought. Then…he wrinkled his forehead in concentration. He had woken up…here? 

Kidnapping a Cartwright wouldn't be a new idea. For what? Ransom? But why would Amelia…? She had always seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for him, of course, but he thought he had taken care of that years ago. But wait - hadn't she said David…? He felt his heart beat a little faster. _David Fairchild_. Now, maybe that made a little bit of sense.

David Fairchild had worked for him for a while on the ranch. They had been a bad combination from the start. He had found David surly and lazy and bad tempered - countermanding his orders apparently just to show he could. He had also kept a bottle with him on the job, and while Adam had never actually seen him drunk, drinking on the job was contrary to Cartwright policy and he had finally made up his mind to fire him. He had informed Pa, since it had been his idea to hire him in the first place, and Ben had demurred.

"Son, I know he's not a perfect hand yet, but those children had a bit of a bad bringing up - Amos was not an ideal father and now I just want to see them have a chance. I know you have high standards for the men under you, but maybe sometimes you expect a little bit too much. I'll take him to work under me for a few days - see if we can't make this thing work out."

David had lasted an even shorter time under Ben - not even a complete day. When Adam came in for dinner that evening, Ben explained in some exasperation that he had had to let him go. "Some people just don't know what to do with a chance," he had remarked sternly. "I told him to collect his pay and be gone."

"Maybe your standards are just a little high?" Adam had murmured.

Ben had lowered his brows at him, then laughed unexpectedly. "Maybe they are. I just know I don't want that man on my ranch another day."

Adam had nodded, surprisingly relieved. There was something about David Fairchild that he hadn't liked, aside from his sloppy work habits - something unsettling he couldn't put his finger on. Since he couldn't describe it he didn't like to accuse him of it, but he had been glad to see the last of him. Or so he had thought.

He grimaced, automatically twisting his hands again, stopped abruptly and squeezed his eyes shut. _God, that hurt._ No more of that. He wished he had some idea of how much time had passed…hours? Minutes? Probably at the very least he was late meeting his father and Pa would be concerned…he smiled grimly. Not without some cause, as it happened. He felt another wave of dizziness and the edges of his world blackened. He had to stop this passing out…had to focus…to try, at least, to keep an idea in his head for more than a minute at a time…he felt a thin sliver of panic. 

He couldn't be sure, though, what was real and what wasn't - he had some vague memories of being stroked, then of being hit, an odd juxtaposition of sensation that left him more disoriented than ever, and the blackness around him seemed to press in and overwhelm him. 

__

Water. He could use some water…he thought Amelia had given him some earlier, but it didn't seem to quench his thirst - in some strange way, it left him more parched than ever. Consciousness was sliding away from him despite his best efforts when he heard a sudden banging over his head, and then a squeaking of boots on ladder rungs nearby, and he stiffened automatically. _Was someone…?_ He tried to lift his head up, to look. 

His vision jumped and blurred, but he could just make out a shadow in front of him. It stopped, studying him. 

"Awake, huh?" He recognized David Fairchild's flat tones. "Well, that's good. 'Melia had some stuff she wanted to do in town. Thought you might like a little company."

Adam took a careful breath, but didn't even try to reply. 

David smiled. "Funny, ain't it? How you used to be the boss and now I am? Life is pretty funny, don't you think?"

Adam cleared his throat. "What do you want?" he managed to croak. 

He didn't even see the blow coming - just felt the sudden explosion in the left side of his head, a trickle of wetness from his left ear.

"Well, for starters…" Adam eyes seemed to be glued shut, but he could still tell that David was grinning. "For starters, I'd like you to realize who's boss here, friend. I didn't say you could talk." He wrapped his hand in Adam's collar, tugging him suddenly against his bonds. "Now did I?"

Adam didn't answer this time - he couldn't - the sudden movement against the raw skin of his wrists had loosened his last grip on consciousness and he slid over the edge, into blackness.


	10. Chapter 10

The wagon careened wildly up to the front of the Sheriff's office in Virginia City. It had been a long and inconvenient trip and Amelia silently cursed her brother for his stupidity. She was in a hurry to get back home to her prize partly to just be with him but partly because she was nervous as to how she would find Adam's physical condition when she returned. Her brother seemed to be displaying the same vindictive characteristics she had been afraid of from their father and it was making her real uncomfortable. Maybe Duncan could be convinced to side with her and help her protect Adam from any further abuse. She threw down the reins and sprung from the wagon. As she made her way up the stairs she felt like someone was watching her. Slowly she turned around and spied several townspeople whispering and pointing at her. Irritated she barreled into the Sheriff's office where she found him sipping his coffee and looking at wanted posters. 

"Sheriff, I'm here to get my brother out," Amelia stated as she slapped the money on his desk. 

Roy laid down the posters, took his glasses off, laid them on the desk and stared down at her pile of paper money. "Well, that's right fine, Miss Amelia. How's about we take care of that." He stood up and set his cup of coffee down. 

Amelia stood with her arms crossed impatiently tapping her foot. "That suits me fine. I'm tired of the way all the townspeople are lookin' at me. Seems they think we're criminals or somethin' and we ain't done nothin'!" 

Roy pulled the key out of his top desk drawer and crossed to the outer door of his prison. "Folks is just upset due to the death of Adam Cartwright and all," he replied somberly. "He was a good man." 

"Well, that ain't my fault!" she said angrily as she barreled her way into where her brother was. 

"Amelia!" Duncan called out happily as he moved up to the bars. "You come to get me out?" 

"Yes, dear brother," she answered shooting the Sheriff an aggravated glare. "Sorry it took so long." 

Roy unlocked the cell door and swung it open. "You're free to go, son." He motioned for him to move forward. "Try not to get into any more fights if you can help it, all right?" 

"As long as they leave me alone I'll be leavin' them alone," Duncan stated as he walked out of the jail.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's get home. We've got a lot to do." 

"Hold on, Miss Amelia, I'll need you to fill out some paperwork," Roy said as he picked up his coffee and rummaged around his desk looking for the forms. "It'll only take a minute." 

Amelia and Duncan both stopped and exchanged glances. "I don't believe this!" Amelia blurted out. 

Roy shrugged his shoulders. "It keeps everthin' legal and proper like." 

Amelia crossed her arms and let out a long, annoyed sigh. "Well hurry up," she stated. "Duncan, why don't you wait outside. This SHOULDN'T take long." 

Duncan nodded and walked outside to wait for her.   


Joe and Hoss tied up their horses in front of the undertaker's and stepped up onto the porch. Joe hesitated when they got to the door. 

"I'm not sure I can do this," he mumbled. 

Hoss placed a comforting hand around his younger brother's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "If you'd rather stay out here and wait…" 

Joe nodded. 

Hoss gave him a firm pat. "I won't be long." He disappeared inside the wood building. 

Joe slowly turned and lowered himself onto the bench in front of Sylvester's. Leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together. He happened to glance over at the Sheriff's office where he spied David Fairchild coming out. Sitting up straight, he adjusted his hat. This was his chance to confront David, let him know how he felt and why. He stood up and stepped off the porch of the building. Glancing back over his shoulder he hoped Hoss wouldn't see him. Joe knew he wouldn't approve. 

As Joe got closer and closer to David he could feel butterflies forming in his stomach. He continued to keep his eyes focused on the back of the man he believed to be his brother's murderer. Standing behind him he gave David a hard tap on the shoulder. "I want a word with you." 

Duncan stopped adjusting the bridle on the horse and slowly turned around. He sized up the man standing in front of him trying to figure out if this was someone who might want to kill him. "What do ya want?" 

Joe cleared his throat. "I want you to know that I'll be watching your every move. I know you had something to do with my brother's death and I plan on proving it." 

"Your brother?" Duncan asked, "Who's you brother?" 

"Don't play games with me, Fairchild," Joe cried angrily. "Adam's dead and you're responsible. Either you hired someone or you did it yourself. Either way, you're goin' to hang for his murder." 

Duncan thought for a minute trying to place the name. It finally clicked that this must be kin of Adam Cartwright. What was he talking about? He wasn't dead. Or was he? He thought back to last night before he'd been arrested. His sister had mentioned that they would be moving the body after he made sure he was spotted in the saloon, but then he'd screwed up the plan by getting into a fight. Had his siblings gone and killed Adam Cartwright? 

"Did you hear me, David!" Joe had a fistful of Duncan's coat and was now yelling at him. 

Duncan didn't like people touching him. Furrowing his brow he forcefully brushed Joe's hand off. "I ain't deaf, Cartwright." 

Joe returned his glare. "Why don't you take a swing? You know you want to," Joe taunted as he held up his fists. "You've always hated my family, how about a little more satisfaction, huh? First my brother, then me." 

Duncan debated on taking him up on his offer, but a voice inside his head told him to leave it alone, he didn't want to end up back in jail. Instead he turned his back and continued adjusting the horse's bridle. 

That infuriated Joe even more. He grabbed Duncan's shoulder and yanked him back around. "I wasn't done talkin' to you." 

Duncan looked down at where Joe's hand had been then looked up at him. "No, but I was done talkin' to you." He gave Joe a hard shove that sent him on the ground. Laughing, he turned back around. 

Joe scrambled to get up so he could charge David, but two strong hands held him back. "Stop it, Joe," Hoss ordered him. 

At the same time Amelia and Sheriff Coffee were walking out onto the porch. "What's going on?" she shrieked as she raced to Duncan's side. "Are you okay?" 

Duncan smirked, "I'm fine. Wasn't nothin' I couldn't handle." 

Joe struggled to free himself from Hoss' firm grip, but his brother wasn't letting go. 

"I suggest you two get yourselves out of town." Roy indicated towards Amelia and Duncan. 

"Us? I think you're tellin' the wrong people, Sheriff," Duncan replied. "He's the one that started it." 

"You killed my brother!" Joe yelled at him. 

"No, we didn't!" Amelia yelled back, "Why don't you stop poisoning this town with your lies and leave my family alone!" 

"I ain't gonna tell you again," Roy interceded. "Get yourselves out of town." 

Amelia let out a grunt of frustration. "Let's go, Duncan. It's obvious we won't get fair treatment in this town." The pair climbed into the wagon and Amelia took up the reins. Duncan stretched out in the passenger seat and smiled when he tipped his hat at Joe as they rode by. 

Joe started to struggle again. "Let go of me, Hoss. I'm goin' to kill him!" 

Roy's head snapped around towards Joe. "Now you listen hear, you better not let me hear you say anythin' like that again. I'm sorry about your brother, but if David Fairchild turns up dead who you think they're goin' to blame? You stay out of his way, you unnerstand?" 

Joe narrowed his eyes at the Sheriff. 

Hoss gave his youngest brother a firm shake. "The Sheriff's talkin' to you." 

"I understand," Joe mumbled quietly as he dropped his head. "Now, let go of me, Hoss." 

"I'll let you go if you promise you won't go after David Fairchild," Hoss stated angrily. "We ain't got time for this foolishness." 

"I promise," Joe replied. 

Hoss relaxed his grip and released his brother. 

Joe stood up straight and shifted his shoulders to adjust his jacket. Bending down he snatched his hat up from the ground and started beating the dust off it. 

"I better not have any more trouble out of you, Joe Cartwright. Your father's got enough to worry about without you goin' and gettin' thrown in jail, you hear me?" Roy said. 

"He hears ya, Roy," Hoss answered, shooting a sharp glare towards Joe. "We're about done in town anyway, then we'll be on our way. Joe, why don't you get in the wagon and wait for me." 

Joe started to protest. 

"Don't you give me no back talk, little brother," Hoss answered angrily. "I've had about all I'm going to take from you. Go wait in the wagon." 

Joe reluctantly walked towards their wagon. 

"I'm sorry, Hoss. I know this is a difficult time," Roy said. 

"It is for all of us, Roy," Hoss replied somberly. "We're havin' the funeral Sunday, I hope you'll be there." 

Roy nodded. "I'll spread the word. I know there's a lot of folks would want to pay their respects." 

"Thanks, Roy," Hoss answered as he gave the Sheriff a friendly pat on the arm. He turned and walked to the wagon where his brother was sitting sulking. Climbing in, Hoss gave the reins a sharp slap and steered the wagon to the back of the Undertaker's to pick up the coffin.   



	11. Chapter 11

"Adam! Adam - c'mon! C'mon, Adam - you said you'd take me fishin'!" An odd creak-and-groan sound, like a ship at sea…"C'mon, Adam! It's gettin' late! You gotta come, Adam! You promised! Adam!!!" 

What had he promised now? Something that would get him out of bed much too early, evidently. Was it really morning already? He felt like he hadn't slept at all…and what was that sound…? The faint squeak continued at a steady, consistent rhythm. 

"ADAM!!! C'mon - come with me!" 

Fishing, huh? Well, maybe he could sleep once they got settled. No - with Hoss, maybe, but not with Joe…

"_Adam!_" 

His eyes flew open. He blinked - opened and closed them again, just to be sure. No, they were open all right. But it was so dark…

It was the tearing pain in his shoulders that brought it all back - that, and the faint squeaking noise. He groped with one hand, trying to still his slight, persistent swaying and the creak of the ropes against the…he felt it as best he could with fingers that were now stiff and bloodless and cold with lack of circulation…a hook, he guessed, of some kind. He closed his eyes again. That seemed to take all the strength he had. He sagged against his bonds and then bit his lip hard as they chewed deep channels into the flesh of his wrists, an itch of moisture rolling down his forearms. He was pretty sure now that that wasn't just sweat. He really needed to find a way down from here, before he became an amputee by default. 

He leaned his forehead against one arm, the side where the ear didn't ache and throb, and felt a residue along his neck crack and flake on that side. He grimaced. He felt pretty sure he knew what that was, too. Nice that he could supply Mr. Fairchild with so much entertainment while he waited for his money. Or land. Or whatever it was he wanted. 

He ventured to open his eyes again and tried to let them adjust to the darkness that surrounded him. Despite everything, his head felt a bit clearer and he wondered where Amelia was. Hopefully David hadn't seen fit to hurt her on his behalf. Hopefully she was all right. He realized in a half-detached way that he was shivering - whether from the pain or the damp, chill air he couldn't be sure. The area was windowless and silent and smelled of earth…like a grave. Like being buried alive. _And that wasn't helping anything_, he reminded himself sternly.

He wondered how long he had been here. He wondered how long they planned on keeping him here. No one had bothered to feed him, so maybe they didn't plan to keep him for long. On the other hand, maybe they just didn't plan on him ever leaving. He tried to shift again, to ease the ropes that cut like a blade through his skin, gasped out loud when they grated against the torn flesh. _Worse_. He had to stop that. What he needed was something to stand on - just enough to lift up and release himself - or at least lighten the unbearable drag on his arms. He tried to peer through the Stygian gloom. _Nothing. Nothing anywhere nearby that he had any hope of reaching_. He grasped at the hook again, felt it slide slickly and uselessly between his palms.

__

Well, Pa would pay them, of course - whatever was demanded. He winced, this time from a different kind of pain. Pa would be beside himself by now. And he loathed the idea of his father having to give up anything to the likes of David Fairchild.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself still. Of course, maybe they wouldn't have to. Hoss was an excellent tracker - and Joe was sharp - good with a gun. They'd be looking for him. They'd come for him. 

He shifted automatically, trying to lift himself just a little, clenched his teeth as the ropes twisted deeper into the open sores on his wrists. And a good thing, too. Because apparently there wasn't a darned thing he could do to help himself.

__

Fishing with Joe. He sighed and closed his eyes again, picturing it, picturing home. There it would be warm and bright. One of Hop Sing's dinners would be sending a savory aroma throughout the house. His cozy bed would be waiting. Pa would be fussing, of course, and he usually hated fussing - it left him feeling awkward and embarrassed and uncomfortable - but…well, this time it actually didn't sound half bad.

__

Know what, Pa? As soon as I get out of here? I'll take everything Paul gives me without making a peep. I'll eat everything Hop Sing fixes. I'll let you feel my forehead as many times as you like and when you scold I'll do just what you say without answering back once. Well…almost, anyway - a man can only change so much.

His squeezed his eyes tighter shut as the cords seem to bury themselves right against his wrist bones, making his eyes water and a film of cold sweat spring up along his scalp. 

__

But, Pa…I know you're doing your best, but…I sure would appreciate it if you could hurry some.


	12. Chapter 12

Hoss concentrated on the rhythmic rumble of the wagon along the dirt road. Helping Sylvester load up the coffin for Adam's body was more than Hoss could handle. He knew he was the one the family was counting on to be strong and to see them all through this, but he was having strong doubts that he could do it. Adam was gone. His protector, confidante and second father. Adam had always been the one he could count on for anything if his father wasn't available. His father. Pa was in a complete state of emotional distress. Hoss couldn't recall a time he'd seen his father weep so openly. Except at Marie's funeral. It scared him to see his father in such an unsettled state. And now Joe. Hoss was trying to be sympathetic to his little brother and what he must be going through. Hoss wished it was as simple as knowing that David Fairchild was responsible for the death of their brother, but it wasn't. There wasn't any proof and they were going to have to live with the fact that it was simply an accident. A stupid, senseless fire that had taken his brother's life. He missed Adam already. Adam would've been strong in this situation. Hoss needed to use that knowledge to give him the strength to get through this day. For his entire family. 

Joe was angry. He couldn't seem to shake the feelings of torment from the confrontation with David Fairchild. How dare he look so smug. How dare him even act like he didn't even know what he was talking about when he approached him. His gut told him the Fairchilds were involved and he wouldn't stop looking into it until he was absolutely sure they weren't somehow entangled in his brother's death. He knew he should've kept his cool and not let David get to him, but he just couldn't seem to control his emotions. The fatigue and irritation regarding the events of the last day were taking their toll on him. He knew if he let his anger subside then he'd start crying and wouldn't be able to stop. Hoss had done the right thing to keep him from fighting David, but it didn't quench the burning rage that still lingered inside him - a rage that was making it difficult to keep a level head. 

"Joe, I don't blame ya' for being so angry," Hoss finally spoke up. "It tears me up inside to think of our lives without Adam. But you ain't makin' it any easier by tryin' to get yourself thrown in jail. Whatever's eatin' you, you best control it, you hear me? For Pa's sake." Hoss lowered his head and gently snapped the reins. "We're buryin' our brother and I really don't have the strength to worry about you going off half-cocked because you want to blame someone for all this." 

Joe listened to his older brother, taking every word to heart. He wanted to explain to Hoss what was going on his head. He wanted Hoss to be just as angry so they could punish the Fairchilds for Adam's death. 

"Pa needs…" Hoss swallowed the hard knot that had formed in his throat, the tears threatening to spill forth. "Pa needs us to be strong, Joe, that's all." 

Joe couldn't even look at his brother. Crossing his arms he turned away so that Hoss wouldn't see the fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. "I know they had something to do with it, Hoss." 

"You keep that crazy talk under your hat, Joe," Hoss stated. "Pa's upset enough as it is." 

Joe dropped his head. "I know. You won't have anymore trouble from me, Hoss. I promise." 

"Thanks, Joe," Hoss responded somberly. He stopped the wagon and turned towards his little brother. Reaching into his vest pocket he pulled out the watch that Roy had handed him to pass onto their father. "Joe, I want you to be the one to give this to Pa, all right?" 

Joe wiped the tears from his face and turned towards Hoss who was holding the watch in the palm of his hand. "You want me to..." he looked into his Hoss' face then rested his hand on top of his brother's. "I will. Thank you, Hoss." 

Hoss nodded knowing that Joe understood the importance of the task at hand. This day was about focusing on their father's well being; their time to avenge their brother's death would be later. Hoss gave the reins a snap and continued their trip home. 

The rest of the trip home was spent in silence, both brothers lost in their thoughts, dealing with their grief. As they pulled up to the front of the Ponderosa two of the hands came out along with Hop Sing. Hoss turned around slowly and looked at the coffin for Adam's body. Joe had immediately climbed down and was headed inside the house. 

"Everything okay in town, Missa Hoss?" the Chinese cook asked. 

Hoss watched his brother disappear in the house. He let out a sigh, laid the reins down and climbed off the wagon. "Everything went fine." Hoss looked towards the carriage house. "Where's Pa?" 

"Missa Cartlight visiting grave site," Hop Sing responded. "I fix big lunch. You eat now?" 

Hoss shot a look towards the coffin. "Not right now, Hop Sing. I got to take care of this." 

One of the ranch hands stepped forward. "Uh, we could handle it for you if you'd like, Hoss." 

Hoss shook his head. "I wouldn't want to put you through that." 

"It's no problem, Mr. Cartwright," the other hand spoke up. "My father was an undertaker." 

A wave of guilt washed over Hoss. He knew he should be taking care of this, but he also knew he wasn't going to be able to handle it emotionally. He was relieved these two were volunteering, they were a godsend. Tapping the side of the wagon he nodded. "All right boys. I'll make sure you're compensated for it." 

The two hands unloaded the coffin and headed towards the carriage house. 

"Now, you eat lunch," Hop Sing stated. 

Hoss smiled lightly, he was hungry. "All right." 

Joe came walking back out of the house. "Hop Sing, where's Pa?" 

"He at grave site of your mother," the cook responded. 

Joe shot Hoss a grim look then continued on his way. Hoss snagged his youngest brother's arm, forcing him to turn towards him. "Joe, you remember what we talked about." 

Joe nodded his head and started to leave, but Hoss didn't let go. Joe turned back towards him. "I'm not going to say anything to upset Pa. I promise." The irritation was thick in his voice. 

"You better not," Hoss replied, then slowly released his grip. He watched as Joe made his way towards his horse, mounted and rode away. 

Joe was very familiar with the site where his mother had been buried. He spent most of his pensive moments here; it helped him feel close to her. Now she would be sharing it with his brother. Joe didn't want to think about that right now. He rode up to the grove of trees that marked the entrance to the pathway to the grave. Tying up Cochise, he gave her a gentle rub to the nose and made his way down the path. When it opened up he spotted his father sitting on a rock and staring at the lake. Ben didn't acknowledge Joe's presence and it made him feel like an intruder. He pressed his hand to his jacket and felt the firm roundness of the watch in his pocket. He didn't know what to say so he just moved over to his father and knelt down beside him. 

"It's a beautiful spot," Ben mumbled and dropped his head. "Your mother loved it and so did Adam." He turned his gaze to Joe. "Did you and Hoss take care of everything in town?" 

"Yes sir," Joe responded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch. Pausing to rub his thumb along the smooth surface, he finally handed it up to his father. "Roy thought you'd like to have this." 

Ben slowly took the watch and stared at it. Popping it open he read the inscription. At the time the words had seemed so important. Now they seemed so trivial. "There's so many things I should've said to him," he mumbled. "You would think I would've learned when I buried your mothers. Our time on this earth is a precious thing. Not to be wasted." 

"Adam knew you loved him, Pa," Joe said quietly. "That's the most important thing." 

"Did he?" Ben questioned. "Did I tell him enough? Was I a good father? Did I give him all the advantages that he deserved? I keep asking myself if I would really listen to him when we argued or was I just so determined to be right." Ben gazed off towards the lake. "This is going to sound crazy, but I heard him, Joe." 

Joe laughed uncomfortably. "You what?" His father was obviously mentally exhausted. 

"I heard his voice talking to me, making promises," Ben responded quietly. 

"What kind of promises?" 

Ben could tell his son thought he was talking crazy. He laughed as he broke his gaze. "Oh nothing. I'm sure it was nothing. I just miss his voice, that's all." Ben bowed his head. "I miss him so much, Joe." 

Joe stood up and moved to his father where he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

Ben reached up and held it. There was a long pause as they stood and listened to the sounds of the woods. "A father shouldn't bury his children. It isn't suppose to happen that way." Ben stood up and moved over by Marie's grave. With his index finger he traced the words on the stone. "It hurt so bad the day we buried your mother, I don't know if…" Ben fell to his knees. "Oh God, my son is dead!" His heart-wrenching sobs echoed through the pines. "I want my son back." 

Joe could feel his heart constricting, making it difficult to breathe. It broke his heart to watch his father express his grief so openly. Racing to his side Joe knelt down and hugged his father's back, "We're going to get him, Pa, I promise. It's going to be alright, I promise." Joe couldn't stop the tears any longer and let them pour without concern down his face. He continued to rest on his father's back, rocking them together as one unit. Joe was hoping that somehow it would ease their pain. That somehow this was all just a terrible nightmare and this crippling pain in his chest would soon disappear. "Don't worry, Pa, everything's going to be all right. I promise." 


	13. Chapter 13

It was starting to get dark when Amelia pulled the wagon into the yard. She leapt down almost before the old nag could stop, tossing the reins to Duncan. Duncan shrugged resignedly, looping the reins around a hitching rail and giving the horse a pat before following her inside.

"Duncan's here!" He could hear Amelia's voice ahead of him down the narrow hall. "Now I want to - _David!_"

Duncan entered the small kitchen to see David seated comfortably at the table, working his way through a whiskey bottle. He seemed unperturbed by Amelia's distress. "What?" he drawled indifferently, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Amelia's hands curled into fists. "I want to go check on him! Now!"

David shrugged, but the smile grew infinitesimally. "So, go. I ain't stoppin' you."

Amelia stamped her foot. "You have your chair right on top of the root cellar door!"

"Do I?" David's smirk grew to a full scale grin. "Huh."

Amelia kicked at his chair. "David, it's not fair! I did everything you said! Now I want to see him!"

David stretched out a little. "Oh, what's your big hurry? Ain't like he's goin' anywhere."

Amelia stomped in a little circle. "I waited all day! ALL DAY, David! Now let me go down! It's not fair!"

Duncan dropped himself into a chair and stretched out his legs. "Oh, heck - let her, David. What's the harm?"

Amelia glanced at him in surprise, then turned her eager gaze back to David. David seemed to ponder it for a moment. "Oh…" he yawned lazily. "I 'spose…" Amelia moved eagerly toward him. "…after…" 

She stopped, frowning. "After? After what?"

"After you fix us a nice dinner. I'm real hungry."

Amelia blew out her breath. "I'll fix you a nice dinner AFTER I see him! I want to be sure he's all right."

"Oh, he's fine. It's me that's near starved. Fix me a nice dinner, then you can spend all the time with him you like."

Amelia pouted. "David…"

Duncan shrugged. "Oh, come on, 'Melia - that seems like a compromise."

Amelia's lip thrust out further, then she let out a gusty sigh and flounced over to the pantry. "Oh, all right! But then you have to let me! And you better not have hurt him!"

David snorted. "You sure do waste a lotta time worryin' about him. Told you he's fine."

Amelia sorted through the pantry, assembling ingredients. She paused. "Didn't he want any lunch?"

David topped off his drink. "How's that?"

"His lunch." Amelia came back out of the pantry, spoon in hand. "The stuff I left for his lunch is still here. Didn't he want any?"

"Hm." David shot back his drink. "Reckon I forgot to ask."

"DAVID!"

David thumped his glass back on the table. "Oh, for Pete's sake, he's out half the time - don't know how you expect him to eat. Anyway, he didn't look hungry to me."

"He hasn't eaten since yesterday, David! After we eat I'm taking him some, too - I warn you right now!"

David shrugged. "After you feed me, I don't much care what you do."

Amelia glared at him, brandishing her spoon. "This is why Pa never let us have pets!" she stormed. "You don't know how to take care of them!"

David chuckled as she disappeared back into the pantry.

Duncan watched in amazement as a meal was quickly spread out on the table and the savory odor of chicken stew filled the room. "Sure smells good, Amelia," he said, a little shyly.

Amelia sniffed. "Well, the stew only needed to be heated up." She glared pointedly at David.

David snickered. "Woman's work."

"Well, filling the kindling box is man's work and I don't notice that you've done that, either. Real hard to cook decent without it."

David looked like he was going to say something, and Duncan jumped in hastily, "I'll take care of it, Amelia. Guess it's the least I can do, after you sprung me. Where's the woodpile?"

Amelia looked at him thoughtfully. "Right out that door. Thank you, Duncan - it's nice to see that I can count on ONE of my brothers!"

David's face darkened unexpectedly and she beat a hasty retreat to the stove. Duncan pushed to his feet and sauntered out the back door to look. By the time he returned with an armful of kindling, Amelia was laying out bread and butter and water and spooning stew into bowls. 

Duncan looked wistful. "This is nice. Just like I sorta always dreamed."

Amelia looked somewhat mollified, but she didn't sit down. "I want to feed him, since he's had to wait so long."

David tilted his head at her. "You ain't gonna eat?"

Ameila pushed her nose into the air. "I'll eat with him, thank you."

David guffawed. "Yeah - he's real good company, too."

Amelia seemed to think of something and disappeared into the pantry again, returning with a small bottle. She measured a couple of spoonfuls into one of the bowls and stirred. 

David watched her. "You know, that's how come he keeps on passing out. You oughta go easy on that stuff."

Amelia sighed impatiently. "It's the only way to keep him under control - we agreed. He gets his wits about him and we'll have our hands full - you know how smart he is."

David shrugged elaborately. "I don't know why folks say he's so smart. Never seemed so smart to me. Bet I'm smarter than he is."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "David, he has a college education! You KNOW he's smart!"

"Ain't so smart he didn't end up hangin' in somebody's root cellar."

Amelia gave him a disgusted look, but knew enough not to answer. Instead, she carefully gathered up her bowls and spoons and a lantern and glared at him. "So?" she said coldly. "Can I go down now?"

David hesitated, then took a mouthful of stew, pushing his chair to the side. "Sure. Go ahead. Have your fun."

Amelia kicked the rug aside and lowered herself into the dark maw of the cellar. 

Duncan watched with interest. "He's down there, huh?" David nodded indifferently, kicking the trap door shut. "Sure am lookin' forward to this, I don't mind tellin' ya. I got plans for that money. Seems like I'm almost on the way to havin' everythin' I've ever wanted. A family - a ranch - I got this idee - " he glanced tentatively at David, but he was pouring himself another drink and he couldn't see his eyes. "that I'd like to take my share and buy some real good breedin' stock - start myself a real good string of horses - see if we could sell 'em. Always wanted to try my hand at breedin'. Now, what with this ranch and a little money, reckon I can make somethin' of it." David still didn't respond, so he pushed a little. "How much we ask for?"

"What's that?" David looked up, startled.

"The ransom," Duncan repeated patiently. "How much we gettin'?"

"Oh." David's eyes went blank for a minute. "Well. A man like Cartwright - he's worth a lot."

Duncan nodded. "Yeah, I figger. Ran into some of his family today in town and they seem right put out about losin' him. How much you askin' to give him back?"

David rubbed his nose vaguely. "Oh…you know. Uh…$10,000."

Duncan gave a low whistle. "That's a pile of money."

"Yeah, well, old man Cartwright's sure got it. Bout time he parted with some of it. He sure didn't help my Pa any when he was alive, so he can help his kids now, I figure."

"Sounds fair." Duncan helped himself to more stew and refreshed his whiskey. 

"Course, you can't mention to 'Melia about the ransom."

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "Why's that? She got somethin' against bein' rich?"

"Naw…" David reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of cheroots - offered one to Duncan. Duncan declined politely. "But she's all mushy-soft on that Cartwright fella - always has been. Thinks she's gonna keep him forever."

Duncan blinked. "Forever. But…there wouldn't be any money in that. How could she keep him forever?"

David grinned wolfishly. "Try tellin' her - she's a little - er - light in the upstairs, if you get my drift. Thinks she's gonna keep him as a pet down there."

Duncan wrinkled his nose. "When you gonna tell her?"

"Tell her?" David looked blank again. "Oh, don't you worry about that. One day she'll come home and he'll just be gone - I'll tell her he just up and died - just like I did with that rabbit of hers she kept in a box when she was little. She'll make a fuss, but she'll get over it. In the meantime…" he lit the end of the cheroot and blew a careful cloud of smoke. "It'll be our secret. Okay?"

Duncan shrugged. "Sure. Whatever you say."

"So now - tell me more about these horses!"

Amelia made her way carefully down the ladder in the dark. As her feet hit the earthen floor she heard the door slam shut above her and paused to stick out her tongue at it. Good. She didn't want to be interrupted anyway. She rested the lantern on a barrel of pickled onions and turned it up. It threw an eerie light over the earthen walls. She lined up her bowls on the barrel next to it, keeping careful track of the one with the powder in it, and moved to inspect her prisoner. No, that seemed like much too cold a word - her lover. 

He looked unconscious, but when she touched his cheek he started and tried to open his eyes. He was sweating lightly and his hair was plastered in curls across his forehead. She loosened them gently with her fingers. 

"Adam," she whispered, "I brought you something to eat."

He managed to open his eyes to slits. "'Melia?" he choked a little. "You - all right?"

She smiled. "Yes, Adam - I'm fine for now. I brought you some dinner…did David give you any water?"

Adam shook his head faintly.

Amelia frowned. "Would you like some?" 

"Please…" his voice sounded dry and raspy. Amelia brought him a dipper full of water and he drank thirstily, sighing deeply when she pulled it away empty. "Amelia…" he swallowed again. "Can you…cut me down?"

Amelia bit her lip. "Adam, I - I - "

"Please." His voice was faint. "My arms…"

"I - I know, Adam, but - David - he'd half kill me for doing something like that…"

Adam sighed resignedly and nodded slightly. "Then…could you…get word to my…family…"

Amelia dropped her head. "I - I wish I could, Adam, but - David would - "

"They'd - protect - you…"

"They would if I lived long enough to get to them! But, Adam, he has me followed - I'd be dead long before I reached them…and then what would happen to you?" She ran one hand tenderly over the side of his face. 

Adam flinched a little at her touch and she looked at him more closely. "Are you all right? Did David hurt you again?" He didn't answer and she studied him, pursing her mouth at the dried blood encrusted along his ear and neck. "I don't know what he's thinking. Let me clean this up for you…did he hurt you anywhere else?"

"Mostly it's…my arms…"

"I can't do anything about that, Adam…" She wet a cloth at the rain barrel and held it up against his ear to soak some of the dried blood loose. "But I'll take care of you the best I can." Adam's head dropped and she noticed that he was shivering. "Are you cold?" He didn't answer so she ran her hands over his shoulders and around his back. "You are…" She wrapped her arms tight around him, tucking her head under his chin and snuggling close. "You smell so nice, Adam…you smell nicer than any man I ever knew…I think that's the first thing that made me fall in love with you…" She closed her eyes, caught up in the memory of that day. 

Her father had started his drinking early and had been dissatisfied about something in the way she'd fixed breakfast - had knocked her around some. She had thrown the skillet at him and run away, as far and as fast as she could. When she couldn't run anymore, she had just dropped down by the side of the road to catch her breath. She had time, now - Pa was already much too drunk to follow. She was just trying to decide whether or not it was safe to start the long walk back and noticing how far she'd actually come when she heard a wagon. She ducked her head, waiting for it to go by, but, to her surprise, it stopped just in front of her. She still tried to ignore it until she heard somebody jump down and crouch beside her. 

"Miss Amelia?"

She liked the sound of the familiar deep voice and peeked up tentatively. Adam Cartwright. He was just two years older than she was, but had always seemed so grown up. 

"Miss Amelia, you okay? You're kind of far from home, aren't you?"

Amelia peeked again. He had pushed his hat back on his head and he looked so handsome. And he was looking at her sort of anxiously…she felt the sting of the bruise on her cheek and rubbed at it. "I'm all right…" she mumbled.

Something crossed his face that she couldn't quite read. "Need a ride home?" She hesitated. "Long walk." She twisted her skirt in her hands. "Going that way anyway."

She didn't think that was really true, but suddenly she couldn't resist the temptation to ride in a wagon alongside Adam Cartwright. Maybe even some folks would see them. She smiled with sudden coquettishness. "All right…" she murmured coyly.

He looked a little amused and held out a hand to help her up. Then he put his hands on her waist and lifted her into the wagon seat. It had only lasted a second, but in that moment when he held her against him she had caught a fragrance of soap and starch and clean sweat and…something else. Something she couldn't name. It had left her breathless. All the men she knew smelled of alcohol and unwashed clothes and stale sweat - she had no idea a man could smell as nice as that. She stared at him as he settled in the seat beside her. Her mouth must have been hanging open, because he raised his eyebrows at her and his eyes twinkled, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile that creased a dimple into his cheek. "Comfortable?"

"Oh." For a minute her heart was beating so hard she couldn't answer, then she saw he was waiting for her and blushed and nodded. 

"All right, then." He clucked at the horses and they were off. 

Adam had tried to talk to her that day - to draw her out. She vaguely remembered that he asked her about her interests and her family - even the weather, she thought - but she had barely been able to answer. Because in her heart she was busy, making plans - making a promise to herself and to him. That if it took her the rest of her life, Adam Cartwright would be hers, to have and to hold - forever.

She shook off the memory and opened her eyes when she felt him stiffen. "David didn't hurt you there, did he?" She let go of him with one hand and ran it down his side, feeling for breaks or irregularities. He shivered again and seemed to pull into himself. "You must really be cold." She pressed herself closer, letting her hands wander up and down his back. "Well, don't you worry, Adam - I'm going to keep you warm." She felt him try to lift his head and reached up to play with the damp curls at the nape of his neck. "I'm going to keep you warm, always."


	14. Chapter 14

Adam didn't know how long he'd been out; it must have only been moments. Amelia was still against his body. He tried to raise his head again; maybe he could talk to her, find out what day it was. Just as he was about to speak a loud thumping came from up above. It made his already pounding head hurt worse. 

Amelia let out a gasp as she lifted her face from his chest. "Sounds like the whiskey's starting to kick in." She released her hold on him and stood there. "I have to go now, Adam, but I'll be back. I promise." She turned and picked up the stew dishes, pleased that he was able to keep his appetite up. The bowls were empty. 

"When?" he croaked as she made her way towards the steps. 

"Soon." She took a few steps up the ladder then paused. "Adam, I'll do my best to keep David from hurting you anymore." She turned back and disappeared. 

Adam listened as she yelled to be let out. Why was her own brother keeping her hostage at their ranch? If that was where they were. Maybe he needed her to tend the chores and prepare the meals. Whatever the reason, Adam was glad she was on his side. She had a good heart, just a bad upbringing - paranoid father, hateful brother. He heard a thud followed by some muffled arguing. David and Amelia he guessed. He tried to concentrate and hear what they were saying but after a short while it subsided and the room went quiet. Adam scanned the dim cellar. Amelia had left the oil lamp behind. It was nice to at least be able to see something for a change. It's amazing the things you found yourself being thankful for at times. He recalled a story where a person had kept track of time using the sand through an hourglass; perhaps he could use the principal to help him in his situation. 

His arms were still aching horribly from being tied up for so long. His head was still ringing from the beating David had given him earlier. Struggling to keep himself alert he decided to recap what he could remember was going on. What day was it? What was the last thing he remembered? He was suppose to meet Pa at the ranch, the church bell's had chimed indicating the time. He couldn't leave, something or someone had prevented him from leaving. Amelia? But she was helping him. She had mentioned him being kidnapped by David, that meant there was going to be a ransom, which meant his family would be coming to get him at any time. The room was starting to grow dim. How much time does it take to burn out all the oil in a lamp? It's half empty. Mustn't think like a pessimist. It has to have been at least a couple of days that I've been here, maybe a week? Pa would've given David the ransom right away. He had to have been worried when Adam didn't show up for their meeting. Pa would've started searching immediately. They all knew Adam prided himself on his punctuality. In fact, his brothers often teased him about being able to set their clock by him. I know they'll find me, they have to. I would be searching for them, they must be searching for me. What's taking them so long to get the money together? Maybe they asked for more than was in the Virginia City bank and Pa had to go to San Francisco to get the rest of it. That must be it. His father would pay any price to ensure the safety of his sons. 

I wish I could let them know where to find me, I wish I could go home, I wish… everything faded into a black haze again.   


  
  


David tried to appear to be listening as Duncan rattled on about his grand plans for the ransom money he was never going to see. What a dolt, David thought to himself. He wanted to laugh out loud, but knew it was important to keep Duncan in the dark as long as possible in case he needed him for something. He never knew what kind of crazy stunt his sister might pull. 

"So, what do you think?" Duncan finished. 

David pulled his almost gone cheroot from his mouth and blew smoke in Duncan's direction. "Sounds great, Dunc." He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms. "I'm sure we'll make a bundle." 

"I know we will!" Duncan answered excitedly as he settled back in his chair. He slid his hands behind his head and stared upwards. "This ranch is going to be the best horse breeding ranch in the territory!" He smiled widely. "I can't believe all my dreams are going to finally come true." 

"Yeah, whatever," David smiled. He was bored. Standing up he made his way over to the root cellar and started stomping on it with one foot. "You're time's up down there! Time to get your butt back up here and clean up this mess!" He looked at Duncan and laughed. "Remember what I told you." He put his index finger to his lips indicating for him to be quiet. 

Duncan nodded and smiled back. "I'll keep it under my hat." 

A pounding reverberated through the room. David and Duncan both looked down at the root cellar door. 

"David, open up this damn door!" came the muffled voice of Amelia. 

"I didn't hear the magic word, sis!" he teased. 

There was a pause. Duncan stood up and was tempted to interfere, but the glazed look in David's eyes made him reconsider. "I'm gonna go out on the porch and get some fresh air." He turned and walked outside. 

"David, open the door and let me out!" she sounded like she was crying, "Please?" 

David leaned down and pulled up the wooden door. Amelia emerged holding the clean plates in her hands, tears were running down her face. "You are such an asshole!" 

"What? I thought you'd think it was a little slice of heaven to be locked up with your sweetie." He let the door drop with a thud. 

"You're still hurting him, aren't you?" she whined. 

"So what if I am. A guy like that needs to know where his place is." 

"David you promised he was all mine!" she screeched. "I can't marry him if he's dead!" 

"I ain't goin' to kill him," he responded irritably. "He's worth too much to us alive." 

Amelia stopped crying. "What do you mean?" 

David realized he might have slipped. "Now, Sis." He moved towards her and ran his finger down her cheek. "What I meant was he's worth a lot alive because he makes you so happy and if you're happy then I'm happy." 

"Then stop hurting him," she whimpered. "Please?" 

"But it's so much fun," he replied evilly. "Sometimes I just can't help myself." 

Amelia breathed out a light, uncomfortable laugh as she searched his eyes to figure out his level of seriousness. 

"I'm not serious!" David cried out with a laugh, "What kind of monster do you think I am!" 

Amelia responded with an exasperated scream then turned and charged over to the sink. She flung the dishes against the edge with a loud clatter. 

"What the hell is your problem?" David plopped back in his chair and placed his feet on the table. Reaching forward he grabbed his bottle of whiskey and glass. He studied the glass for a minute, "Aw, hell." He threw it across the room smashing it against the wall then started chugging his whiskey from the bottle. 

Amelia spun around. "What was that?" 

"Nothin'," David responded as he pulled the half-empty bottle from his lips. "That's good stuff!" he breathed, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "You just concentrate on your woman's work." 

"And what if I don't want to!" she replied angrily. 

"Then you ain't goin' to see your sweetie no more," David responded smugly as he pulled his chair back over the top of the root cellar door. "I'll be baby sitting him ALL the time!" He let out a loud, unbalanced laugh. 

Amelia narrowed her eyes giving David her best icy glare. Turning back around she started scrubbing a pot aggressively. "We'll see about that," she mumbled. "Weirdo." 

  


Duncan sat on the front porch with his legs braced against the post. He was intently whittling a piece of wood that was going to be a horse. He heard the creak of the screen door open and looking over saw Amelia come forth. "Hey "Melia." He dropped his legs and leaned forward on his knees. 

"Oh hey, Duncan." She looked back over her shoulder then pulled the inner door to the house closed. Smiling she made her way towards the chair beside her brother. "What're you doing?" she asked sweetly. 

"I'm whittlin' a horse." He was concentrating heavily on carving out the tail. "Where's David?" 

"He's inside passed out," she indicated with a point of her thumb. "Finally." 

"He likes that stuff an awful lot, don't he?" 

"Yeah, I guess," she responded with a long sigh. 

Duncan stopped what he was doing and looked over at his sister. "What's the matter with you?" 

"Oh nothing," she answered with a smile. "I was just thinking about Adam… and me." 

"Oh yeah?" Duncan sat up, remembering what David had said. 

"Yeah," she started to play with her skirt. "I'm so lucky to have him. He's handsome and smart and has the most beautiful eyes you ever saw." 

"If that sort of thing interests you," Duncan replied flatly as he continued whittling. 

Amelia leaned forward towards him. "He's got a real way with numbers, you know, and he designed and helped build the Ponderosa too!" She settled back dreamily. "He's so wonderful." 

Duncan raised his eyes towards her. "So, let me ask you a question?" 

She looked over at him. "Sure." 

"Well, what are you hoping to gain out of all this?" 

Her face lit up as she stared off towards the horizon. "Why I'm going to marry him, of course!" 

Duncan stopped. "Nothing else." 

Amelia's face brightened even further. "What else would I want? I'd have the love of my life as a husband." She moved back towards her brother. "I love him Duncan … and he loves me. We're going to be together forever!" 

Duncan sat back in his chair and smiled. David was right, she wasn't too sorted out in the head. Oh well, he thought to himself, he didn't really need her help converting this place into a horse ranch anyway. He held up his finished carving of the horse and held it up to see how it would look in the corral. He could do it all by himself. Well, maybe he'd have to steal some hands from the Cartwrights, but he was going to be rich. Rich AND powerful.   



	15. Chapter 15

Hop Sing placed a plate of chicken next to an expansive tray of muffins then paused, studying it. After a minute, he tweaked the plate, turning it to show its bounty at a better angle, and nodded. Good. Almost ready. Much food. 

He glanced thoughtfully at the makeshift table of planks and sawhorses in the middle of the room, carefully draped in black and supporting the long coffin, gleaming softly in the firelight. Nicest one Sylvester have on hand. Pecan, he say. It look fine - quiet and elegant. Like Missa Adam. 

His heart contracted painfully in his chest and he glanced up the stairs - heard the sounds of the Cartwrights preparing themselves for the evening. He moved to the coffin and placed his hand lightly on it. There was incense burning on the small altar in his room to create a celestial ladder for Missa Adam's climb to the next world. Should be high climb, he thought. Missa Adam good boy. Fine man. They would not have incense out here, of course - not a Chinese funeral - but Boss Cartwright had agreed to let him hang a Chinese funeral banner, wishing Missa Adam best luck in his next life. 

He let his eyes drift along the neat Chinese characters. When Missa Adam was twelve, Hop Sing had shown him how to copy Chinese characters - to make fai chun - lucky banners - to celebrate Chinese New Year. Missa Adam had made very neat work of the characters - always asking what this one meant, what that one meant, but never quite able to read them. He had tried to teach Missa Hoss to make fai chun too, but Missa Hoss was more interested in New Year food and flowers. Tried to teach Little Joe, but Little Joe liked better the fireworks and the decorating of the altar. But Missa Adam had never grown tired of trying to understand the fai chun - every year after he had made them again, new ones, always asking for the meaning. Hop Sing felt his eyes grow damp. _Good bye, Missa Adam. Maybe now you able to read them without Hop Sing. Maybe now you can read all the good wishes Hop Sing has for you._

He looked again at the table of food and frowned. In China, food was piled around the coffin to sustain the deceased on the heavenly journey. This was not a Chinese funeral of course, but…he looked a long time at the dishes, lain out and carefully covered with napkins until the guests should arrive. He lifted one in his hands and thought about it. Apple dumplings. Missa Adam very fond of his apple dumplings. Not seem right he feed Missa Adam all these years and then let him go hungry on most important journey of his life. Missa Ben understand, probably. Why take chance boy leave home hungry? Never, ever happen when he alive - should not happen now he dead. Bring terrible shame to Hop Sing. He picked up the plate and set it near the coffin. 

That better. Wishes for a good journey. Food to sustain him. Celestial ladder - in next room, but - Missa Adam find. Always very smart boy.

He picked up the newly polished candlesticks with their candles from the sideboard and arranged them around the head of the coffin. To light Missa Adam's way. No reason to travel in the dark. 

He had picked bunches of flowers - both late wild flowers from the meadows and some from his garden, and arranged them so that they draped across the coffin lid, spilling down the sides. _Good_. A little outdoors - a little home - for Missa Adam to take with him. Take a little old life along when starting new life. He looked again. 

After a minute he went to Boss Cartwright's desk and opened one drawer. In the bottom, carefully wrapped in silks, was a framed daguerreotype of Adam his grandfather had had taken while he was in college in Boston. Very old, of course - long time since college - but since Missa Adam's coffin must be closed…one way to remember his face. 

He carefully arranged the frame on top of the coffin among the flowers and looked again. The young, serious face looked back at him, the eyes alive with hope and fire, and his throat tightened. _Oh, Missa Adam. What we do here without you? How your father manage without his number one son? Who remember with him the long journey west? Who remember with him Missa Hoss's mother? How he live now, carrying his memories all alone?_

He set his chin hard. No time for foolishment now. This time Missa Adam's - last time ever with him. Must not waste. After a minute he returned to the desk and came back with something else in his hand. He placed the smaller picture, a painted miniature, next to the daguerreotype. He stepped back to look. 

__

Maybe you finally meet her, hey, Missa Adam? Maybe she wait to greet you? You both wait long time. So maybe not all sad? Maybe some happiness, too, yes? He looked at the smiling face with the eyes just like the ones in the daguerreotype next to it, and after a minute he returned to the desk again. He looked at the two other frames in his hands and slowly placed one at the side of the coffin, by the candles. 

__

You see her again, too, yes? She maybe thank you for you take such good care of her little boy? I don't know how this boy go on without you, Missa Adam, though he very big boy now - always need his big brother very much, it seem to me. 

He set the last frame next to it, turning it at a pretty angle. 

__

And this one - this one not always so peaceful with you, yes? But what happiness you bring her. What happiness she bring you, once you allow her. She running to meet you, too, yes? Fine welcoming committee you have, Missa Adam - maybe not lonely at all where you are now. His hand lingered on the picture. _But her little boy - he be very lonely without his eldest brother. Who he fight with now? Who he push himself against, testing his strength, now you gone? I do not question the Immortals, Missa Adam - maybe they ready to have you - maybe you ready to join them - but here - we not so ready to let you go. Here, we still need. What Hop Sing do without his boy? Who paint his fai chun for him for New Year? Who play sly jokes on brothers and make him laugh and, yes - who stand up to father? Who be not just son to father, but friend?_

There was the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs and Hop Sing turned his back on the coffin and walked hastily back to the food table, needlessly turning the dishes this way and that. He heard the footsteps stop somewhere behind him, but he did not turn to look.

There was a long silence. "Hop Sing - " the catch in Missa Hoss's voice made him glance at him. He was standing very still, his eyes taking in the three portraits and resting on the daguerreotype. Even in the fading light, Hop Sing could see the moisture glistening in his eyes. Joe was standing quietly just behind him, tears running down his face. Hop Sing hoped he had the fresh handkerchief he had just starched for him handy. "Thank you, Hop Sing. It's - it's jest beautiful. Perfect." 

Hop Sing nodded briskly, touched, and returned to fussing with his plates of goodies. 

Hoss cleared his throat. "We was - comin' down to light the candles - figured - we could each light a couple - each one in the family, you know? And think of Adam sorta as we did - think of what we wish fer him, now that - " he stopped, his face working, and dropped his head. He struggled for control, pushed a hand across his eyes. "Shoot. Now I'll get the matches wet and it'll be jest like that dirty trick Joe and Adam always used to…" his voice caught in a sob. 

Joe gently took the matches out of his hand, struck one. "I'll go first." He closed his eyes and stood for a minute, thinking to himself, then he touched the match to a series of candles and stood, his palm resting lightly on the coffin. "Your turn, Hoss," he whispered at last.

Hoss took the match from him, tried to light it. It snapped in two. He took another one - it crumpled uselessly in his hand. 

Joe lit one and handed it to him. Hoss gave him a watery, grateful smile and closed his eyes for a minute. Then he carefully lit another set of candles and gently laid his hand on the casket as well. He saw the apple dumplings, and his shoulders shook for a minute. "Hop Sing - "

Hop Sing straightened. "Missa Adam get hungry on journey, maybe!" he said sternly. "Who understand better than you? Not let Missa Adam go hungry!"

Hoss nodded bleakly. "I know. I ain't - ain't what I wanted to say. I wanted to say that Pa - " he closed his eyes and swallowed. "Pa ain't - ready - yet. And - well - somebody ought to light the rest of the candles. Oughta be family. Hop Sing, would you…?"

Hop Sing felt his heart throb and tear. He carefully wiped his hands on his apron. 

"Hop Sing very happy to do." He took the match from Hoss and closed his eyes, also letting one hand rest on the coffin. 

__

Good journey, Missa Adam. Safe and loved. We miss you very much. Miss us, maybe, sometimes, too. He lit a set of candles, doused the match. Missa Hoss reached out and clasped his free hand. After a second, Little Joe curled his free hand around the both of theirs. They stood, one hand clasped in a three layered fist and the other on the coffin, as if that was a way to hold Missa Adam's hand too, and watched the candle flames catch and climb. The smoke spiraled up and up. 

__

Just like incense, Hop Sing thought_. Missa Adam's celestial stairway to heaven_.


	16. Chapter 16

Hoss thought about his wish for Adam. Laughter was the first word that had popped into his mind. Adam had the best smile and most contagious laugh when he let himself enjoy a good joke. They had shared several in their lifetime. Most of them had been on Little Joe, but some had been on himself. He couldn't help but smile, a harsh sob catching in his throat. He knew his family was looking to him to be strong, he hoped he wouldn't let them down.

The soft creak of the stairs behind him broke Hoss from his thoughts. His father must be finally coming down. When he had stopped by his room earlier he'd found him sitting in his favorite rocking chair, his tie undone, shoes not polished, tears streaming down his face. Hoss hadn't wanted to intrude, but something had drawn him to sit on the bed and spend some time with his father. There really hadn't been much to say but, being together, a family, seemed to make his father smile even if it was only for a moment. It gave Hoss the needed strength to make it through this night.

Hoss brushed away his tears with his hand as he pulled it back from the pile. "Sorry, Pa," he said, sniffing as he turned towards him. "We went ahead and lit the candles. Hope you don't mind."

Ben shook his head, a smile tugging gently at his lips. "No, Hoss. It looks – it looks really nice." His father crossed the room to the coffin and placed his hand on it. He ran his hand along the frames of his three wives. When he got to the picture of Adam he picked it up and studied it. They all watched as he broke down and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Hoss wanted to move forward and hug his father but he was frozen, just staring at him in his time of great sadness. Soon Ben replaced the picture, rubbed his eyes then looked over towards the perfectly set table. Hop Sing had done a wonderful job placing the food. Ben gave the Chinese cook a nod, too overwhelmed for words. Hop Sing returned the gesture with a bow.

Hoss noticed that his father looked tired. It'd been a long day for all of them and he was sure that he and Joe looked just as worn out. Cramming his hands in his pockets he moved closer to his father. "Is there anything special you need me to do tonight, Pa?" his voice sounded shaky, clearing his throat he continued. "Ya know, like where you want us to stand and all."

Before Ben could answer there was a knock at the door. Hoss and Joe exchanged glances then looked to their father for guidance. Ben was staring at the door, paralyzed to react. It was Hop Sing that finally made the move and opened the front door to welcome their guests.

It was Roy Coffee and Doc Martin. Handing their hats to Hop Sing they made their way towards their old friend.

"How ya doin', Ben?" Roy asked, extending his hand.

"Fine, under the circumstances," Ben responded. 

Roy and Doc Martin exchanged concerned glances and escorted him off to the side to talk with him. Hoss watched their interaction until some other friends arrived.

Mario Biancci and his son entered, carrying a large bowl of spaghetti. "I am a so sorry for your circumstances. Your brother, he was a fine boy." Hop Sing came and got the bowl from Mario. "My son, he hopes you will let him play at Adam's funeral tomorrow, it would mean so much to him."

Hoss looked down at the young boy that he and Adam had found playing classical guitar music at the saloon. Hoss couldn't help but smile as he looked down into the hopeful eyes of young Nick. "I think Adam would've liked that a lot." Hoss could feel more tears burning his eyes. "Please make yourselves at home, if you'll excuse me." He walked away from the pair and over to the punch bowl. A woman and her young son were looking around the room. Hoss nodded his head and smiled at the woman who returned it awkwardly. "Would you like some punch?" Hoss asked her.

The woman smiled, "Oh yes, thank you. Jody, would you like some too?" The young boy looked up at her with big, round eyes and nodded.

Hoss handed them their cups then continued to drink his. Just as he started to walk away the woman grabbed his arm gently, "I'm sorry to bother you, but could you show me who Adam's family members are?"

Hoss set his punch glass down. "I'm Hoss Cartwright, Adam was my brother."

"Oh," the woman responded. "Well, I'm Mrs. Grant and this is my son Jody. Your brother helped us out at our ranch a while back."

Hoss knew the name, the husband had been a cattle thief who Adam had managed to talk out of being a part of his group's last rustle. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. Thanks for coming." Hoss looked down at the young boy. It made him think about what Adam had looked like when they were boys. A memory flashed into Hoss' mind of Adam turning around laughing. He was holding up a fish he'd just caught.

Jody was digging in his pocket and pulled out a small carved horse. Holding it up he showed it to Hoss. "I was wondering if you might - put this with – I mean, well, I made this for Adam and I want you to be sure he gets it." He placed it into Hoss' hand. "I made it with the jackknife my Pa gave me. I been meaning to – well, Adam was a good friend and I'm going to miss him. I just wanted you to know that."

"Yeah," Hoss responded. "I'm gonna miss him too." Hoss looked down at his hand as he turned over the wooden horse. "I'll be sure to take care of this."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright," Jody responded quietly. 

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Cartwright," Mrs. Grant chimed in. "Your brother was one of the bravest and most honest men I ever met. He saved our family, I'll never forget him."

Hoss nodded. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Well, Jody, we better get back. We have a long ride," Mrs. Grant said as she gently pushed her son towards the door. Hoss was still staring down at the horse in his hand. Mrs. Grant paused as she passed by and gave Hoss's arm a gentle squeeze.

Joe walked up to his brother and looked at the item he was holding. "What's that?"

"Something for Adam," Hoss said, as he slipped the wooden figure into his pocket. "He touched a lot of people's lives, you know?"

Joe placed an arm on his larger brother's shoulder and gave him a gentle pat. "I know what you mean." Together they scanned the great room of the Ponderosa, wall to wall with friends and neighbors. There was a line out the door where additional people were waiting to get in.

Hoss spotted their father. He seemed to be holding up well as he shook hands and acknowledged the people and their words of sympathy. Hoss knew he should be standing beside him in case he needed something. He poured another glass of punch. "Joe, I'm going to check on Pa." Joe slid his hand off his brother's shoulder and nodded. It took Hoss a while to get in behind his father, but when he finally did he managed to get the cup into his hand. "Here, Pa, are you thirsty?"

Ben took the glass and drank the liquid down in one swallow, then continued to speak with their visitors. Hoss didn't want to move, he wanted to stay close beside his father. Perhaps it would give him continued strength to face the mass of people that had come to pay their respects to his brother. Folks who had known him and whose lives he had touched in some way, shape or form. Hoss slipped his hands back into his pockets and felt the wooden horse. Pulling it out he maneuvered towards the coffin and set the figure next to the picture of Adam.


	17. Chapter 17

Joe sank back into the shadows. So many people. How had they heard so fast? Roy did a good job of spreading the word - he'd have to remember to thank him. He felt someone touch his arm and flinched. In his secret heart, he wished they'd all just go away. He knew they cared - that they only wanted to pay tribute - but what did they know? Tomorrow after the funeral, their lives would go on as before. His would never be the same again.

The hand squeezed his arm more forcefully. "There, there Joseph. Don't be afraid to be sad. It's a terrible sad thing. So young, he was."

Joe set his teeth, glancing up to see his comforter. Mrs. Clemens, the milliner. "Yes'm," he offered briefly, hoping she'd leave. 

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away - he had some special need of Adam right now, I'm thinkin'."

Shut up, thought Joe ferociously. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"He was a good son. A good brother."

I KNOW that. Don't you think I -?

"Well, he's at peace now. With God's angels."

The mental image of what Adam might have to say about finding himself suddenly surrounded by a crowd of white robed cherubim flashed across Joe's mind and he laughed before he could stop himself. Mrs. Clemens blinked at him in shocked surprise. He flushed. "S-sorry, ma'am, I - " he took a deep breath. "If you'll excuse me, I think I need some air." He tore himself from her grip, ignoring the final pat she tapped on his forearm. 

"That's a good idea," she soothed. "Take a little time alone. Remember your brother loved you."

Joe sidled his way through the crowd to the kitchen and out the back way, trying his best not to break into a dead run. His brother loved him. Of COURSE he did - did she think he didn't know that? Why did everyone have to come around and try to tell him what he already knew? As though they couldn't wait to remind him of what he had lost. 

He let the door drop shut behind him and drew in a deep breath of evening air. That was a little better. The night was very still and he stood for a moment, looking about him. Adam used to love the night - was always going out riding in it - _and you stop that right now! Leave it alone!_ There was no point in thinking about those things - Adam was gone. Better just start getting used to the idea. But it was like a sore spot a missing tooth left that he had to keep exploring with his tongue. He dropped down on the stump they used as a chopping block and closed his eyes. 

__

God's angels. This time he pictured Adam in the white robe and it made him smile. Adam'd probably ask if he could trade it for a black one. Probably be a little dubious about the halo, too. Now, the wings on the other hand…his smile stretched, even as he felt the moisture prickling at his eyes…he'd like the wings. Probably bore poor old St. Peter to death, asking him to explain all the aerodynamic…aero…whatever it was that made them work. Would never believe it was just a plain old miracle. Would want an explanation. A reason. Would probably try to improve on them. 

Well, there just ain't reasons for everything, Adam - I know, cause for the life of me, I can't think of a single reason why you shouldn't be here any more. Hoss is right - who's gonna look out for him now? Who's gonna look out for me? For that matter, who's gonna look out for you, if you're way off someplace, tryin' to redesign angels' wings? We look out for each other, wasn't that the deal? Well, then, you messed up bad, Adam, cause you ain't gonna be able to keep your end of the bargain. He ran his sleeve over the wetness on his face. Of course, Pa always said Ma could look out for me, even from the other side, so maybe you can, too. Maybe you can still watch out for me and Hoss. But what about you? Who's gonna look out for you when that big crowd in the white robes gets busy singin' and forgets to? Huh? Who'll be watchin' yer back? That's what brothers are for.

He blotted his eyes again and squinted up at the stars. Maybe angels were given someone to look out for them - especially someone new. Maybe Adam would be assigned a new brother - an angel brother. That thought hurt so much that for a minute he had to press his fists into his eyes and take deep breaths. 

It wasn't fair. Nothing about it was fair. He was Adam's brother - him and Hoss. But he still had Hoss, and if Adam was all alone up there without any brother at all…well…he swallowed. Maybe he should have one, then. Maybe that would be all right. Or maybe, his mother…or Adam's or Hoss's…he swallowed again, drying his damp hands on his trousers. "Listen, um…" he glanced around to be sure there was no one to overhear. "If you're gonna be lookin' out fer Adam, there's some things you gotta know. He'll make like he doesn't need you to - I don't know, maybe he even believes that - but anyway, he'll make like he doesn't want anybody lookin' out fer him, but he needs it anyway. You can't let him fool you. You have to watch and look out for him anyhow, sneaky like. He'll never ask. He's kinda stubborn and a little proud, but if you push he'll give in eventually. He'll make like he just doesn't want to hurt your feelings, but he'll be glad. You just can't let on that you know that about him. Play it kinda cool." 

He sniffled and took another shaky breath, relaxing some. "Mrs. Clemens was right - he was a good brother. Good - friend. And he loved me a lot. I know that. I loved him too. Did he know? I think he did. Of course he did. Just don't know if I ever said. I meant to, of course, but…well, with Adam and me it was…I don't know. It was always easy with Hoss and Pa, for some reason. And, shoot, I must have said it to at least a hundred pretty girls. Don't know why it came so hard when it came to saying it to my own brother. But he knew. I'm sure he did. Just kinda wish I'd said. Don't know why I never did. I'm kinda stubborn and a little proud myself, I guess."

He glanced shyly back at the stars. "You remember how when I was five and Ma died, I threw myself on the ground and had that big tantrum? Think I thought maybe if I made enough fuss she'd come back, even if it was just to scold me…Adam sorta picked me up and shook me and held me and told me that - that he was sorry, but it wasn't gonna bring her back. He was right, of course. Wonder if he ever got tired of always bein' right. Of course, I guess he would've known better than anybody. Wonder if he tried throwing a tantrum when Inger died - knew first hand how it didn't work. I never thought to ask. Wish I had, now. Wish I'd asked about a lot of things…just always seemed like there was gonna be plenty of time." 

He rubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "Wonder what he'd tell me to do now? Never mind, I know. He'd tell me to stop sittin' out here feelin' sorry for myself, and to get in there and look after Pa and Hoss. Well, okay, I'm going." 

He stood up slowly, giving one wistful glance back at the stars. "Night brother. Now, don't go driving all those other angels crazy, tryin' to make their wings better, okay? I love you, Adam. I know you knew. Just wish I said." His eyes swept the sky and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And whoever you are up there looking out for things? Be good to Adam tonight."


	18. Chapter 18

Ben listened to himself repeat the same words over and over and over. Yes, thank you for coming, I appreciate you being here, Adam was a good man, thank you, yes, thanks for coming we really appreciate you being here. The faces were starting to blur together, the density of people blending into a continuum of words and sympathetic gestures. His son had touched so many lives, for that Ben was very proud. How long had he been standing here? He sensed Hoss behind him and was glad to have him close by, just in case. Thankfully, by the grace of God, he'd managed the strength to continue greeting all these people. Friends and neighbors who had been a part of his son's life. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joe duck into the kitchen. Mrs. Clemens was calling out to him until she was distracted by another guest. She tended to say the right thing but usually at the wrong time. But Ben realized it probably wouldn't have taken much to set his youngest son off, they were all visibly tired and emotionally strung out. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had found the charred remains of his oldest son. He turned and looked towards the coffin. He still didn't want to believe it could be Adam. Something deep inside him told him that it wasn't; a voice that made him fight the notion that his son was dead. 

"Mr. Cartwright?" 

Ben looked up. "Abigail Myers." It had been with his son's help that she and Hank Myers, their former hand, had been brought together and married. "Where's Hank?" 

"Hank is out of town on business, but I'm sure he would've wanted me to give you his condolences as well." She was holding Ben's hand affectionately. "I'm so sorry. We'll miss him very much." She brushed away a tear with a dainty white glove. "He was a fine young man." 

"Yes, yes he was, Miss Abigail. Thank you - for attending, Adam would have really appreciated it," Ben nodded as she slowly released his hand. 

Time moved by slowly and it seemed like the line of guests was endless. Virginia and Todd Keith, Todd's father, Swede and Annie Lundberg, Amelia Miller, Martha Fletcher, they were all here - supporting him, his family and a son that had made a difference in their lives. 

The night wore on and finally the last of their neighbors left. It had to be late. Ben stretched as he looked over at the Grandfather clock - it looked like it said 10:30. 

"Pa, you want to sit down for a bit?" Hoss asked with concern. "You've been on your feet all night." 

Ben nodded and sat himself down on the edge of the settee. It had been a bad idea as he could feel the pain already setting in. Ben rubbed his eyes then reached up and patted Hoss's forearm, "It's been a long night, son, why don't you get some sleep." 

"Aw, I cain't sleep, Pa," Hoss responded softly. 

The door to the house opened and Joe walked in, "The last of the folks are gone, Pa, well, except for Mr. Regan." 

Ben looked up in surprise, "Will?" 

"Yeah, he, uh, said he wanted to wait." Joe indicated the porch. "He's outside." 

Ben stood up slowly, the aches of age settling in a little too quickly. He moved to one of the end tables and slid open the drawer. Ben pulled out his pipe and tobacco, filled it then slipped the leather pouch into his vest pocket. "I'll be back, boys. Why don't you help Hop Sing clean up." 

The boys nodded. 

Ben stepped out the front door and into the night air. He lit a match on the side wall then puffed on his pipe until he saw the steady orange glow. He blew out the match, tossed it into the dirt then walked to where his old friend and former ranch foreman was sitting on the bench smoking his pipe. Ben moved over to him and dropped down beside him. "Evenin', Will." 

"Evenin', Ben," the older gentleman responded. "How you gettin' along?" 

"I've had better days," Ben answered taking a puff from his pipe then pulling it from his mouth. 

"Ben, I know a bit about what you're going through," Will said somberly. "It wasn't that long ago I lost my Carl and Adam - Adam was good enough to bring him home to me. I owe your son a great deal." 

Ben nodded. Will owed them nothing. Adam had decided to never tell Will the truth about the tragic details surrounding the death of Carl. The man had lost his son to a senseless death and that was what brought them together at this very moment. Ben let out a long sigh. "How do you do it, Will? How do you get through a day without him?" 

"You just do." Will dropped his head, pulling his pipe from his mouth. "When I lost my wife I thought the good Lord himself had reached down and ripped out my heart. I ain't never felt anything as painful as that, but then when we received the news about Carl…" A sob caught in the older gentleman's throat. "Well, I just wasn't sure I'd be able to go on. He was the last of my family, left me all alone." 

Ben reached over and put a comforting hand around Will's shoulder, the tears burning and threatening to spill forth. 

"You still got two boys, Ben," Will continued. "Hold them close whenever you can and never forget to tell 'em you love 'em." Will wiped his eyes. "Sometimes I fear I didn't tell Carl enough." 

"I'm sure he knew," Ben's voice wavered. "But thanks Will, thanks for," his voice hitched. "Thanks for coming by, it means a lot." He cleared his throat and took another puff from his pipe. 

"Ben I wanted you to know that there ain't nobody else can feel for what you're going through better'n me. So, if you need to talk…" Will turned towards the elder Cartwright. "Well, I'll be here for you. And your boys. I mean that." 

Ben smiled. "Thanks, Will." 

The two men sat and gazed at the stars, no words, just the soft puffing of the two pipes and the gentle sound of the crickets. 

When Will finally left, Ben walked into the house where he saw Joe and Hoss sitting beside the fireplace. The house had been cleaned of all the food and most of the furniture had been returned to its original place. Ben gazed at the dark coffin adorned with flowers. The candles were about out, he'd have to get some more pretty soon if they were going to stay lit all night. Looking to the picture of his son again he noticed the small carved horse: he didn't recall seeing that earlier, perhaps someone left it? 

Hop Sing came around the corner with a tray of coffee and placed it on the table next to Joe, who was sitting in his father's leather chair. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some new candles and started to replace the old ones. 

"Wait, Hop Sing." Ben took the candles from the cook. "Why don't we all light these." 

Joe and Hoss got up from their chairs and made their way next to their father. Hop Sing started to back away. "I meant the whole family." The Chinese cook smiled and moved up next to Little Joe. They each took a candle and lit it from the currently burning ones. In unison they bowed their heads and thought about their hopes and prayers for their brother - son - friend. 

"Lord, we come to you humbly on this night - this night of our great sadness…" Ben was crying, but he pushed himself, determined to finish his prayer. "Please, Lord, give us the strength to not dwell on the bad, but to remember the good times, the memories that made my son's life such a gift to the people he touched. Let these candles represent the light he brought into this world. May his memory always burn bright and never be extinguished. Amen." 

"Amen," they all chorused. 

"That beautiful prayer, Missa Cartwright," Hop Sing spoke up. 

"Yeah Pa, real nice," Hoss sniffed. 

"Thanks, Pa," Joe said as he wiped away the fresh tears that were running down his face. 

Ben looked up, remembering Will's words. He moved forward and pulled both his sons into a huge bear hug, "I love you boys very much. Never forget that." 

"We love you too, Pa." 

Ben released Joe and Hoss then slowly turned back around to face the coffin. He ran his hand along the smooth cover. "We need to discuss who's going to…" 

Hoss and Joe exchanged glances then Hoss stepped forward. "Pa, me and Joe been talkin 'bout that. Since you've been on your feet all night, how 'bout we stay down here, that way you can get some rest." 

Ben nodded. "Alright." He spotted the tray with the coffeepot on it. "I think I'll stay for a bit, have something to eat, maybe a cup of coffee, wind down a little." 

Hop Sing brightened and poured his boss a cup then went into the kitchen to fix him a plate of food. Ben sat down in his favorite easy chair and sipped the hot liquid. Joe sat down on the coffee table at his father's feet while Hoss moved over towards the fireplace. 

The trio sat in silence until Joe let out a short laugh. 

Ben wrinkled his brow and pulled the cup from his lips. "What's so funny, son?" 

"Oh nothin', I was just thinkin' 'bout that time I beat Adam in that Virginia City horse race - and I got his new rifle! Boy was he mad, you remember that, Hoss?" 

Hoss smiled. "Do I remember? Adam wouldn't speak to me for a week when I won all that money!" 

The two boys laughed. 

"And then there was that time with Senorita Delores," Hoss continued. "He was SO sure he was going to get the girl," Hoss straightened and blew a breath on his fingernails. "But I believe I ended up with the girl that time." 

Joe shook his head, but kept smiling. 

Ben listened through the night as they all shared stories and anecdotes about Adam. It turned into an evening of happy memories, thoughtful moments and heartwarming camaraderie. Before they knew it the sun was rising and none of them, including Hop Sing, had gotten any rest. But none of them cared; it had been the best tribute they could've given Adam. Ben's prayer had been answered - his son's light would never fade away. 


	19. Chapter 19

The stream of morning sunshine beamed determinedly on Amelia's eyes. Using her pillow, she covered her head and tried to block it out, but her attempt was useless. Finally, she peeled it away, laid back on her bed and let out a blissful sigh: she'd been dreaming about her wedding to Adam. She sprung from bed and sat in front of her dresser. Her disheveled hair caused her to frown and she picked up a brush and carefully ran it through her tangled locks, smiling as she admired her beauty. She could hear noises coming from the kitchen and figured it must be David actually doing some work for a change. She hoped he had errands to run in town so that she could be alone with Adam for awhile. Smiling widely, she gave her cheeks a few brushes with rouge, powdered her face and spritzed on her favorite perfume. The noise from the kitchen had subsided. Brushing back the curtain in her front window she was pleased to see that one of the horses was missing from the corral. She slid a sheer coverlet on over her revealing nightgown and headed for the kitchen pantry to start preparing Adam's breakfast. It wasn't long before the back door opened and she heard the loud thud of wood being dropped into the box. She peered out and saw Duncan brushing wood chips off of his pants. She was pretty sure it was Duncan, David never helped around the house, especially since Duncan had arrived. 

"Mornin 'Melia," he called out cheerily. "You fixin breakfast? I'm starved!" 

Amelia smiled weakly. "Yeah sure, Duncan, just give me a minute." She looked down at the half full woodbox, "What are you doing?" 

Duncan smiled widely. "Takin care of some chores. I fed the chickens, watered the horses, cleaned the stalls, chopped you some wood and after breakfast I was going to fix up the corral out front. It's lookin a little run down." 

"Yeah, rundown, that's great, Duncan, thank you," Amelia smiled. "Where's uh, where's David?" 

"He went into town to take care of some errands, said he'd be back a little later." 

Amelia smiled more widely. "Oh, okay, good. Did you bring in the eggs?" 

"Yeah, they're on the counter." Duncan ran his hand through his thick black hair and let out a sigh. "There weren't many, but enough for breakfast." He moved towards the back door, "Well, let me finish splitting this wood, can you call me when it's ready?" 

"Yeah, sure," Amelia responded. "Give me a minute to whip something up." 

"Thanks, Sis!" he called out as he exited. 

Amelia smiled, Duncan was the brother she'd always dreamed of having. Why had their mother taken Duncan and left David. She frowned, why was she always getting the bad end of a deal. But then she remembered Adam. Brightening she walked back into the pantry and continued preparing his breakfast - a scoop of the powder for his water and a sprinkling on his eggs for good measure. She set the meal up on a tray then made a plate for Duncan. Her brother was entering the kitchen with another load of wood just as she placed it on the table, "Your breakfast's ready!" she said with a smile. 

Adam slowly opened his eyes when he heard the footsteps on the wooden ladder. He gave his head a gentle shake to try and clear the foggy haze that was determined to keep him from focusing clearly on his situation. His heart began pounding as he tried to figure out who was coming to visit. Amelia would bring him food, but if it was David - Adam shivered involuntarily a steady pounding radiating through his head. He was wondering how much more of his abuse he would be able to stand, the ache in his wrists a grisly reminder of his inability to defend himself against the continuous torture by his antagonist. 

"Good morning, Adam!" Amelia called out brightly. 

Relief washed through Adam. "'Melia," he croaked hoarsely. 

"Oh, you sound awful!" she exclaimed as she quickly set the tray down and picked up the glass of water. "Here, drink this. It'll help." 

Adam knew he was probably dehydrated and he so desperately wanted to accept her offering, but his instincts were telling him differently. The water she brought to him never seemed to quench his thirst. 

"Go ahead, Adam, drink it," Amelia crooned sweetly as she pressed it to his lips. 

In that moment the image of Eve offering Adam the apple in the Garden of Eden flashed through his mind. He laughed at the irony, not sure if he was giddy with exhaustion or frustration. Adam wasn't sure what transpired next but he heard the clink of the glass as it hit the dirt floor and water splashed against his pant leg. Amelia screamed as she jumped back. 

Standing with her hands on her hips she glared at him. "What did you do that

for?" 

"I'm sorry," Adam mumbled. "I'm just so thirsty." 

"Well," Amelia looked around and then moved towards the rain barrel. Submerging the dipper she lifted it back out filled with fresh water. "I guess this will have to do." She fed it to Adam who got her to refill it several times, the wet liquid soothing his parched throat. "How about some breakfast?" she asked holding the plate up to him and spoon feeding him some eggs and bacon. When she finished she stepped back and smiled proudly. "Are you feeling better?" 

"Much," Adam responded, a small smile tugging at his dry lips. 

"Good," Amelia answered happily sitting down on a pallet across from him, "How about I tell you about the dream I had last night." 

"Okay," Adam answered weakly. 

"Well, it was about our wedding. I was in the most beautiful white wedding gown that stretched all the way down the aisle of the church in Virginia City. All our friends were there. I asked Jenny at the saloon to be my maid of honor you had…" she thought for a minute, "I don't remember who your best man was." She turned her gaze to Adam. "Who would you pick, Joe or Hoss? Or your Pa?" 

Adam stared at her blankly, their wedding? 

"Oh well, it doesn't really matter. I suppose if you wanted you could have all three. Course David and Duncan would be groomsmen, can't leave them out of the plans their feelings would be hurt." 

Adam let out a groan. 

Amelia jumped up. "What's wrong Adam? Are you okay?" 

"More water?" he asked. 

"Oh certainly." She filled the dipper with water and brought it to him. "Anything for you, my love." 

Adam smiled weakly. 

Amelia kissed Adam's cheek then settled back down across from him. "Now, where was I?" Her face glowed. "Oh yes, our wedding!"   
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~   


David rode slowly down the main street of Virginia City. Everywhere he looked he was greeted with eyes full of disgust and hatred. He focused forward trying to ignore them and concentrate on his purpose for being in town - get money and supplies. He should've sent Amelia, but he wasn't sure he trusted her to use their money to purchase the right things. She tended to "forget" his whiskey and cheroots and purchase ridiculous items like material for dresses and perfume. She claimed she needed it to attract the right kind of men for her work. He laughed out loud. Work. Laying on her back gettin' it from old miners and drunks, no wonder she thought Adam Cartwright was such a prize. He rode by the Sheriff's office where the Deputy was sitting whittling a piece of wood, his eyes glued on David as he passed by. David smiled and tipped his hat, the Deputy stood up answering the gesture with a stony stare. 

Things weren't much better when he got to the bank. As he entered, a slow hush fell over the patrons as they recognized him. The line to the teller's window was several people deep and if David didn't need the cash so badly he probably wouldn't have waited. David pulled out his wallet and got out his already filled in bank draft. Looking up he caught eyes with one of the town women, he smiled and she gave him a sour expression before looking away. David didn't appreciate the way he was being treated - as far as they knew he hadn't done anything wrong to deserve this hateful attitude. 

"Next!" 

David stepped forward to the teller and handed his slip of paper through the window. "Cash this for me, will ya and be quick about it." 

The teller frowned, "Yes sir, Mr. Fairchild." He counted out several bills and slid them back to David. 

David counted it. 

"It's all there," the teller said irritably. 

David looked up. "You never know. People these days ain't so trustworthy."

"You would know," came a mumble from behind him. 

David spun around and glared at the crowd. He was staring into a sea of dissension. David crammed his wad of cash in his pocket and marched out of the bank. He shot an angry glance over his shoulder then looked towards the general store. His eyes slid over to the saloon two doors down. He was needing a drink, the supplies were going to have to wait. He stepped from the boardwalk and crossed the street to the place he felt would be his safe haven. Drunks and miners didn't care what was going on in town and most probably didn't even know or like the Cartwrights. He pushed open the batwing doors and was greeted with a continued loud chatter from the clientele. Nobody was paying any attention to him, which pleased him. He walked up to the bar, tossed his hat down and smacked a bill on the counter, "Give me a whiskey, Sam, will ya?" 

The bartender, busy polishing a glass, gave David a hateful glare, but poured him his whiskey, "Drink up and get out, Fairchild, I don't serve your kind here." 

David looked to the man with confusion. "Not you too, Sam. Listen, I didn't kill Adam Cartwright." 

"I ain't talkin about that!" Sam spat out. "You busted up my place the other night and if you think you're going to keep drinkin' in here you can just pay me for those damages." 

David let out a frustrated sigh as he straightened and pulled out his wallet, "How much?" 

"Couple hundred ought to cover it." Sam stated. 

"Couple of hundred?!" David exclaimed closing his wallet back up. "I ain't got that kind of money! You're crazy!" He reached for his whiskey glass but Sam covered the top of it with his hand. 

"Then get the hell out of here," Sam responded bitterly. 

David narrowed his eyes angrily at the large bartender. 

"Well, if it ain't my old pal!" a voice called from behind David. 

"What now," David groaned. He turned around slowly and saw a slim miner decked out in ragged overalls approaching him. "What do you want, Mister?" 

The man smiled revealing a lack of teeth as he ran his hands along the inside of his overall straps. "Well I just figgered you might be wantin' to finish what we started th'other night." Two other toothless losers moved in behind their buddy. 

"Not in here you ain't!" Sam cried out grabbing a large stick from behind the bar and brandishing it at them. "You'll take it outside this time!" 

David turned back around and leaned against the bar. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, boy." He picked up his glass and polished off his shot of whiskey. 

"Hey! You turn back around, I wasn't through talkin' to you!" the drunk yelled out. 

David, clearly annoyed, turned around and leaned his back against the bar. He gestured for the guy to continue. 

"That's better," the man responded with a self-righteous grin. "I think we were kickin' your ass when the Sheriff interfered. Ain't that right, boys?" The group started laughing. 

David summed up the three men as they grunted out their laughs. They sounded like a bunch of gorillas. David tossed a glance over to Sam. 

"You boys better take it outside," Sam warned as he smacked the bat into the palm of his hand. 

"Just give me another whiskey, will you Sam?" David said tapping the edge of his glass, "I ain't in the mood to fight anybody. Not today." 

"What are you chicken?" the head gorilla called out. His crew started to cluck loudly and grunt some more laughing. 

"Why don't you just kill them like you did Adam Cartwright," a voice echoed through the saloon. 

David whipped around, drawing his gun and pointing it in the direction of the voice. His eyes narrowed into slits. He was determined to find the person responsible for the comment, "Where are you, you coward? Tell me that to my face!" The three goons backed off when they saw the cocked pistol. Nobody stood up to claim the remark. David scanned the room carefully. "I'll kill you if I catch you!" 

"Drop the pistol, Fairchild, you ain't killin' anyone today or any other day," Sheriff Coffee interceded as he entered the saloon holding a rifle pointed at David. 

"Sheriff get him out of my place!" the bartender cried out. 

"Just take it easy, Sam," Roy replied as he walked up to David. "Why don't you put that thing away, make my job easy, will ya?" 

David looked at the Sheriff, anger still burning red hot in his eyes. He nodded, then slowly slid his gun back into the holster. "I was just tryin to get me a drink." 

"Well, get it someplace else." Roy gestured towards the batwing doors with his rifle. 

David glared at all the people in the saloon who were staring at him. "I didn't kill Adam Cartwright!" 

A low rumble rippled through the crowd. 

"Come on, let's move it," Roy stated. David gave Sam one last hateful look then, snatching his hat from the bar, stormed angrily past the Sheriff onto the boardwalk. Roy exited behind him. "I figured you to have more sense then to show your face in town on the day of Adam Cartwright's funeral." 

"Adam Cartwright. I hate that name and I hate that family." David slammed his hat on his head then crossed the road to get his horse.   
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~   


Duncan watched as David rode up to the house in a great fury. He laid down the hammer and followed his brother into the house. Something was wrong and he hoped it didn't have anything to do with their ransom money. Maybe the Cartwrights had refused to give it to them. He could hear David bellowing for his sister as he entered through the screen door. 

"Amelia, where the hell are you!" David yanked up the door to the root cellar then went into the pantry and started pulling jars, spices and anything else that was in the way of him finding his bottle of whiskey off of the shelf, "Where the hell is it?" 

Duncan entered the kitchen. "What are you doing, David? What's wrong? What happened in town?" 

David found his secret stash bottle and yanked the cork out with his teeth. He spat it onto the floor and took a long swig, "What didn't happen in town is more like it." He threw his head back and took another long drink. "I met some buddies of yours. They was tryin' to get me to finish what you started the other night." 

Duncan smiled. "Oh, the Benson brothers. What a bunch of idiots, huh?" He laughed. "Did you finish 'em off?" 

David walked up to Duncan and punched him in the chest. "I ain't got time to be finishin' up your school yard brawls. If you'd just stuck to the original plan we wouldn't be owin' Sam a couple of hundred dollars!" 

Duncan's eyes narrowed as he rubbed the bruise. "What's your problem? Once we get our ransom money you can pay him off and that'll take care of that," Duncan reasoned. "There ain't no problems with the money is there?" 

"What money?" Amelia asked as she came out of the root cellar. "What's all the screaming about up here anyway? What happened in town, David?" She closed the door with a thud and took the dirty dishes to the sink. 

"Nothin'," David stated with a frown as he shot a few icy daggers with his eyes at his dim-witted brother. "The people in town were just being a little inhospitable to me today." He took another long drink. 

"Well, did you at least get our supplies?" Amelia questioned. 

David yanked the bottle from his lips and glowered at his sister. "I got kicked out of town before I could. That damn Sheriff had the nerve to tell me I shouldn't be in town on the day of Adam Cartwright's funeral." 

Amelia's eyes opened wide with realization. "That's today?" She rushed up to David and grasped his arm. "Did they say what time?" 

David yanked his arm back. "No, I didn't see as it mattered. It's not like I'm goin' to it. I hate them Cartwrights." 

Amelia gasped in surprise. "Don't say that, David! When we're married they're going to be our family." 

The twins exchanged incredulous looks. Was she even listening to what she was saying? 

"I have to get changed, I have to be there and support his family - they need me at a time like this." She raised her head and smiled at Duncan. "Sweet brother, could you hitch up the buggy and be ready to drive me over there?" 

"Uh yeah, sure thing 'Melia," Duncan responded. 

"HOLD IT!" David yelled, causing the room to freeze. "Amelia, what the hell are you doing? You can't be serious about attending the funeral?" 

Amelia looked at him, her eyes wide with innocence. "Of course I am. They're going to be my family once Adam and I are married. I have to be there." 

David shook his head. His sister was an idiot. An evil grin crossed his face, on second thought, he had things he could do while she was gone. "All right, you go, but LAY LOW." He pointed his index finger at her. "And you're NOT taking Duncan." 

"Then who's going to drive me?" she whined. 

"The Queen of Sheba, for all I care." David crossed the room and put his arm around Duncan's shoulder. "I can't believe that I have to remind you that the Cartwrights think Duncan…" he pointed at his brother, "is me," he pointed at himself, "and they don't like ME very much right now." 

Amelia giggled and lightly popped herself in the forehead. "Oh yeah, silly me. I guess I forgot." She smiled. "Well, can he at least hitch the buggy up for me?" 

David nodded. 

"Good. I'll be ready in a bit." Amelia smiled widely as she skipped happily down the hall. 

David looked at Duncan, his right arm still around his twin and circled his left ear with his left index finger. Duncan laughed lightly, an uncomfortable smile escaping his lips. 


	20. Chapter 20

It was a magnificent morning. Brilliant bands of reds and pinks dominated the eastern sky, heralding a new dawn - the absolute promise of a beautiful day. The short procession moved slowly away from the ranch house, reluctant to begin this last, final journey. Ben forced his gaze from the wagon that lumbered ahead of his buggy; instead he looked out over the countryside. As far as the eye could see, Cartwright land. The Ponderosa. So much promise… Ben's weary countenance suddenly twisted in agony, as the ache in his chest became almost unbearable. He couldn't seem to breathe. Gasping, he sucked in air, only to find his throat blocked.

"Pa…" Big strong hands reached across to clasp his own. "Pa, take it easy. Slow, deep breaths."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ben swallowed against the tightness in his throat, a tightness that threatened to suffocate him. He took a tentative breath, attempting to feed his near-empty lungs. 

"That's better." Hoss spoke calmly, reassuringly.

Not trusting his voice yet, Ben looked intently at the son seated next to him. So much anguish in those kind blue eyes. A son lost. A brother taken. More unfulfilled promises… Sighing, he felt his own tortured features soften as he gave Hoss's hands a loving squeeze. Then, leaning forward, Ben grasped Joe's shoulder momentarily. Pulling back on the reins slightly, Joe turned to Hoss and his father.

Recalling Hop Sing's succoring words, Ben mustered some conviction, promising his remaining two sons, "Somehow, boys… Somehow we'll get through this. Together as a family." Looking ahead at the heavy wagon bearing his oldest to his final resting-place, Ben continued, his full, rich voice now ragged with emotion. "That's what Adam would want us to do."

Blinking several times, Joe turned forward abruptly and snapped the reins, whistling softly through his teeth, urging the team forward.

"Why don't you try 'n rest a bit, Pa. It'll take us most of 'n hour ta git to…" Biting his lower lip, Hoss let the words trail off. "Well, it'll be 'n hour or so at least."

Sagging against the bench in the back of the buggy, Ben watched the ribbons of color along the eastern horizon disappear, replaced by golden hues of the rising sun. The early morning light exposed the finest details of the terrain and vegetation, a precision only revealed on occasion either in the early morning or early evening hours. Two days ago everything had been so right. Now nothing…nothing was right. The clarity was overpowering. No longer able to look at the magnificent bounty of his land, Ben closed his eyes. 

The gentle rolling of the buggy and the warmth from the sun coaxed Ben to sleep. Hoss watched his father lean back and close his eyes. He knew his father had to be exhausted. None of them had slept after the wake. Hell, nobody had slept since…since the barn had burned down and they'd found the body. Maybe for now, just for this brief moment, his father could forget. Hoss bowed his head, folded his hands, and prayed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

He was exhausted. Thirsty too, but more tired than thirsty. He was getting too old for this kind of work. _Next time,_ _save it for my boys_, he thought. Must've been a long hard day judging from the aches in his neck and back. Moving carefully, he arched his back and gently rolled his head from side to side, trying to undo the painful knots. Slowly he lowered himself into the chair by the fireplace and surrendered to the comforting warmth of the fire. Just for a moment he would rest his eyes, rest his body, and wait. Hmmm… Wait? What was he waiting for? His memory was so fuzzy. That bothered him. Furrowing his brow, he struggled to remember. Adam? Was that it? Was it Adam he was waiting for? After a moment of deliberation he decided that must be it. Yes, of that much he was sure. He was waiting for his son, Adam, to return home. 

He was so tired; it would be easy to succumb to sleep. But he must not fall asleep. Even in his muddled mind, he knew that. But why? Fierce concentration, still no viable recollection. Well, then there was no other choice. He would just have to stay awake. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the orange flames dancing in the hearth. Instead he encountered only darkness. Blinking several times, he tried again. Still black. And the room was no longer warm. It was downright cold. So cold the chill had settled deep in his bones. 

He must have fallen asleep. For how long? And he'd let the fire die. _God, did I miss Adam coming home? _Pushing himself up stiffly from the chair, Ben stumbled forward toward where he thought the hearth should be. It was gone. Bewildered, he spun around, searching for the giant hearth. Searching for _anything_ familiar in his home. Damn it was dark. 

"Pa… Help me, Pa. Please."

The words were so faint; he almost couldn't hear them. He was pretty sure it was Adam's voice. Cocking his head, he listened intently. Praying to hear more, find out what direction they came from.

"Pa. I need you, Pa."

Damn, it was Adam. His voice was so weak; it sounded so far away. He couldn't tell what direction it was coming from.

"Adam!" Ben hissed. "Adam, where are you, son? Say something else, tell me where you are." Ben waited, not daring to breathe, listening desperately for his son's voice again. Finally, unable to stand still any longer, Ben lurched forward in the darkness. Arms outstretched, feeling nothing but emptiness of the black void, he ran blindly, without direction.

"Adam! Where are you, boy? Adam… Adam, I'm here for you. Come home, son…"

"Pa! Pa, wake up! You're having a bad dream." 

Startled by the new voice, Ben's eyes shot open as he sat forward. Almost blinded by the brilliance of the sun, he instinctively hooded his eyes with his hand, squinting until they adjusted to the light. Slowly he lowered his hand. He was in the buggy. The buggy was standing still. Hoss was hovering over him, his face full of concern. And Joseph had squeezed into the back seat, his boyish features also pinched with worry. 

"What's wrong, boys?" Almost before the question had passed his lips, realization came hurtling back, nearly crushing Ben with its intensity. 

"God, I'm sorry, Hoss. Joseph." Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth. After a long moment, Ben's jaw finally relaxed. Eyes still closed, head still heavenward, Ben whispered. "Almighty God, it was _so real_. I heard him, I heard his voice." 

Heaving a great sigh, Ben opened his eyes and looked at his sons. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to worry you two. I guess there's no rest for the weary, is there, boys." Looking away, Ben saw the wagon carrying the casket was stopped also. Hop Sing, along with his foreman, Charlie, sat patiently on the high buckboard seat, waiting. Turning to look behind, Ben saw the hands trailing on their horses waited patiently too. 

"Looks like we're about there, doesn't it?" Ben commented as he recognized familiar landmarks. "Let's get 'em moving again, Joseph."

Joe nodded and climbed back into the front of the buggy. Without words or signals, the tiny procession journeyed as one toward the gravesite. And as the day unfolded, the sun continued its own trek across the faultless blue expanse. Both entities resolute as to their ends, each course immutable. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The radiant pinks of the dawn had promised nothing less than a spectacular day. That promise had been kept. Ben acknowledged the irony. He stood alone at the edge of the lake, wanting some distance between himself and the small group gathering by his son's grave, putting off the inevitable as long as he could. It was still early; a warm breeze from the south was just picking up, ruffling the water's surface with endless tiny wavelets, each catching and reflecting sunlight. The result was a pandemonium of undulating points of white light. 

Mesmerized, Ben nodded absently. He approved. There wasn't a more beautiful spot on earth. Adam did love this place, and he wouldn't be alone; he'd be with Marie… Until it was Ben's time to join them both. The pain welled up in his chest again. Wrapping his arms tightly around his chest, Ben tried to swallow the lump he found now lodged permanently in his throat. _Dammit!_ _No more gnashing teeth or wringing hands_, he promised himself willfully. Adam was gone. There was a body in that casket to prove it, wasn't there? No amount of wishing, dreaming, or hoping was ever going to change that. 

Still… It was so hard to let go. He would try to move on, for Hoss, for Joseph. But this…this had crushed something deep inside of him. Somehow, three times before, he'd made his peace with God after each of his beloved wives had been taken from him. But when was enough, enough? His beautiful son gone, his young life so quickly and cruelly snuffed out. _Why, in God's name? Why?_

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. Turning, he found himself face to face with his dear friend, Roy Coffee.

"It's time, Ben." The kind old eyes were red-rimmed. "I'm so sorry, Ben. I'm just so sorry…" Turning away from the tranquility and beauty of the lake, the two old friends walked shoulder to shoulder back up the bank to the grave.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

A small group of Adam Cartwright's closest and dearest friends stood together in a half-circle behind Ben, Hoss, and Joe. Adam's freshly dug grave sat on the knoll next to Marie's; the sparkling blue lake surrounded by the towering Sierra's formed the backdrop. 

"Dearest family and friends of Adam Cartwright, we are gathered here today…" The Reverend John McClain began this final chapter in Ben's oldest son's short life. As the Reverend prayed and promised that his child, his first-born, was now in a better place, Ben watched Hoss and Joe, along with Charlie and Roy Coffee, lowered the pecan casket into the waiting hole. Ben's promise at the lake was quickly forgotten. Tears filled his dark eyes, spilling silently down his face. God, it broke his heart to see his two young sons bury their brother. It was worse than he'd imagined. And how was that even possible? He was starting to have trouble breathing again. His eyelids fluttered and he felt the ground give way beneath his feet.

"Whoa there, Ben." Strong hands steadied him, an arm wrapped around his shoulders supporting him. "Through your mouth - long, deep breaths. Just lean on me."

Ben recognized Doc Martin's voice. Nodding, Ben put all his weight against Paul and concentrated on trying to stay standing. _One breath at a time - in, out._ _Damn, when did it get so hard to breathe?_ Instinctively Ben rubbed the ache in his chest as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Ben, let me give you something. Something to settle your nerves, help with the pain."

Shaking his head adamantly, Ben took a couple of deep breaths before speaking. "No, Paul. I appreciate what you're trying to do. But the pain… It's all I have left." Looking at the open grave, he finished softly. "It's all I've got left of my son."

Paul stepped back as Hoss and Joe returned to stand by their father. Both boys moved in close, took their father's arm and rested it on theirs. Ben was so proud of them at that moment. He knew how much this hurt them, and now, here they stood, so straight and tall. Adam would have been proud too. Ben stared across the lake to the peaks and let his mind drift. He remembered his bright, beautiful boy. On the edges of his consciousness, he could just hear Reverend McClain reading a Bible verse. 

_The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want._

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteous 

For his name's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for though art with me… 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Amelia manhandled the team and buggy into the clearing, past the grove of poplars, pulling up next to the other rigs and teams. She pushed her stylish black hat back into place, smoothed her tousled hair, and then took another moment to rearrange the black netting that covered her eyes and the top of her nose.

"Well, that ought to do it." She put the brake on and looped the reins around the brake handle. "I hope I'm not too late. It took longer to get here than I thought." Gathering up the layers of black ruffles and skirts, she jumped agilely from the buggy. Spying the small group of mourners, Amelia scurried across the clearing to join them.

She stopped about ten yards short, unsure of funeral protocol. Interrupting a prayer was surely a no-no. All the mourners had their backs to her, their heads bowed. Cocking her head to one side, she listened to the preacher drone on. She smiled hearing the lovely things he was saying about Adam, her intended. She waited. Waited for the prayer to end, finally tapping her tiny booted foot impatiently. "Hmph. It's taking much too long. Ben needs me now. He must be heart-broken."

Once more she touched her hat to insure it sat properly on her head, smoothed her full skirts, and then, as an afterthought, adjusted her low-cut bodice. She pulled up on the plunging neckline until she was satisfied. Just the right amount of décolletage was always important, no matter what the occasion. Smiling her most charming smile, Amelia pushed through the mourners.

"Excuse me. Excuse me," she whispered loudly. "I need to get up front with my, um, I mean, Adam's family. Excuse me." She pushed her way forward, getting no resistance, only surprised and shocked stares as she passed. Only Ben Cartwright and The Reverend McClain seemed oblivious to the murmuring among the little group.

"Now jest where do you think yer going, Missy," Sheriff Coffee whispered as softly as he could, grabbing the slippery black satin sleeve covering Amanda's arm. With practiced ease of a saloon girl, Amelia slipped through his grasp, and moved neatly right next to Hoss.

"Well howdy, Hoss." She flashed some teeth. "I'm just broken-hearted about your brother." She sniffed a few times and dabbed at her eyes under the netting with a lacey black hankie. 

Hoss was dumbfounded at first, watching her push her way through Adam's friends. But his bewilderment quickly turned. His eyes narrowed, Hoss snagged her wrist, and pulled her close. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed. 

Amelia eyes widened, her mouth dropped open in absolute shock. She looked to Ben for help, but saw his eyes were closed, his head bowed, lost in another place altogether. Past Ben, Amelia could see the hate burning in Little Joe's eyes. How could she have been so wrong?

The fire that had burned in Hoss since his brother's death had burned slowly, under his careful control, now flared dangerously. What absolute nerve! Adam hadn't liked her; he'd only tried to be kind to her. That was Adam's way with people. How could she come here, to Adam's funeral, pretending to be his brother's friend? Hell, her brother, David, was the one responsible for killing Adam. He wouldn't let her disrupt Adam's funeral any further, upset his father. Still holding her wrist firmly, Hoss tried to push her away from the grave, away from his father, away from Adam. But the satin was slippery and Amelia was even slipperier. Deftly, she slid free and rushed toward Ben.

"Mr. Cartwright. It's me, Amelia Fairchild. A close, close friend…well, more than a friend even…" The words tumbled out, one on top of the other, afraid she wouldn't be able to explain everything to Ben before Hoss or Sheriff Coffee grabbed her and dragged her off again.

The commotion finally broke through Ben's trance. Looking up, he turned toward Amelia's voice, tried to concentrate on what she was saying, tried to figure out who was speaking. 

"So you see, Mr. Cartwright, I _need_ to be here. Be here with you and your family…"

Hoss and Joe both moved to block Amelia from their father. Hoss grabbed her wrist again and was pulling her away as she reached out to touch Ben's hand. For just a moment her fingers found Ben's hand. Ben staggered, suddenly dizzy, disoriented. The lake, the mountains, the expansive blue sky spun out of sight, replaced by snatches of his dream – a cold, dark, emptiness, his dead son's desperate pleas.

As fast as the images came, they vanished. Hoss and Joseph held him upright, steady. The sky, the lake, the grave settled back into their proper places. Roy had a firm grip on Amelia and was escorting her back to her buggy. 

"Ben. Ben, are you all right?"

Still shaky and confused, Ben leaned on his sons. "Yes, Reverend. I'll be okay." 

"I'd like to continue with Adam's service, if that's all right with you."

"Yes, please. Continue."

The Reverend opened his Bible back to the Psalms, and continued with the service. Ben watched as Mother-Earth was thrown back into the grave over the casket, forever burying his child. Forever separating him from his precious son. Maybe Adam was gone, and certainly now nothing could bring him back…but someone _would_ pay. Pay dearly for taking his son from him.


	21. Chapter 21

Duncan watched as David took another long pull on the bottle. "That gonna be your breakfast?"

David glared at him over the neck of the bottle, taking another swallow. "You startin' in on me now?"

Duncan shrugged. "Just bein' practical. There's a lot to be done around here. You have any luck with the ransom?"

David stared at him blankly.

"The ransom!" Duncan repeated impatiently. "Nothin' went wrong, did it? That was a real good story to get 'Melia out of here for a while - about the funeral."

David tilted his head at him. Then he grinned. And guffawed. "Yeah…" he snorted at last. "That was good, wasn't it? Looks like I got the brains in the family." His eyes darkened. "Damn, they gave me a hard time in town, though - you'd think he was the King of Siam er somethin'."

Duncan wrinkled his forehead. "Who?"

"Cartwright! Who else!" David tilted the bottle for another drink. "All that big fuss over a big nothin'."

Duncan brightened. "So they paid? We gonna return him while 'Melia's gone?"

David stared at him again. "You know brother…you ain't near as dumb as you appear to be sometimes."

Duncan grinned appreciatively at the compliment. "So, we gonna fetch him?"

David narrowed his eyes at him, moving then to stare down thoughtfully at the trap door that led to the root cellar. "Somethin' like that."

"Want me ta go hitch up the buckboard? We gotta get him outta here 'fore 'Melia gets back or she's gonna pitch a fit - stealin' her bridegroom."

David kept his speculative gaze on the trap door. "Oh, we got time."

Duncan shifted from one foot to the other. "You think? She sees what we're doin', she's gonna latch onta him like pine sap. Best - "

"Lotsa time. Good long drive out to the lake." He looked up with a sudden smile that sent a trickle of ice down Duncan's spine. "'Sides, we need some time to prepare him proper. He can be a real handful. Need to fix him so he'll be quiet. Cooperative. Or it's bye-bye ransom."

Duncan squirmed a little. "You mean - give him some of that white stuff 'Melia's been givin' him?"

"Somethin' like that. Settle him down."

"Well…I guess you know best. Keep him from recognizing us if he's asleep."

David grinned genially at him. "Sure. Take a while for it to take effect, though. Tell you what - you finish up them chores and then hitch up the buckboard and I'll take care of him. Check on back with me in - say - an hour?"

It made perfect sense. Duncan couldn't begin to understand the shiver of foreboding that shook him. "Okay," he said finally, reluctantly. "If you're sure you don't need help…?"

David chuckled. "Thanks, brother. But I can manage just fine."

Duncan moved slowly toward the door, then stopped. "You don't think - ?"

David raised his eyebrows. "Now, weren't you just tellin' me how much work there was to be done around here?"

Duncan nodded slowly. "Call me when you're ready?"

"Sure thing."

Duncan was almost at the door when he turned around again. "David - what are you gonna tell Amelia? When she finds out he's gone?"

David dragged his eyes from contemplation of the trap door. "Oh, I'll just tell her that he got away."

Duncan nodded again, started to leave, then paused once more. "Um…you think she's really gonna believe that?"

David shrugged. "Why not? She always believed it about those bunnies of hers."

*

Joe stood in the carriage house, mindlessly unhitching the wagon. Scotty nickered at him and he patted his flank absently as he made his way to the front of the team to strip them of their harnesses. What a day. What a crazy, awful…he closed his eyes for a second, trying to steady his racing heart. 

Oh, God. They had done it. They had buried Adam. And as if that wasn't bad enough, everybody else had seemed to go crazy as well – Pa spouting something about visions, Amelia Fairchild babbling something about family and then Hoss…he paused and shuddered. Hoss. Somehow that had disturbed him most of all. Pa and Amelia he could sort of make sense of – some kind of reaction to grief, he guessed – but as Roy had led the protesting Amelia away and for one horrible, wild, and uncharacteristic minute he had been sure that Hoss was going to take a swing at her. Gentle, over-sized Hoss, who treated every woman as though she were made of china and born of royalty. The look on his face had frozen Joe to the spot even as he told himself he had to move – to intervene. Instinctively he had looked over his shoulder – Adam usually handled things like this – and realized, with a sinking sense of loss and despair, that Adam was gone. Pa was beside himself. The only one left to intervene was…him. His stomach bottomed out. Oh, no. He was so – unready. Unequipped. 

He rested his elbows on Scotty's back_. What were you thinking, Adam, to leave me like this? To leave this in my hands? I can't do it, I can't, I can't…_he saw the splotches of water dot Scotty's coat and made a dash at his eyes with his sleeve. Where do I go with my feelings if Pa and Hoss are both gone crazy? What did you do when Ma died, and we were all half crazy with grief? How did you manage? Please, Adam – I don't really want to know – I just want you to come back and fix it for me. Please, Adam – you never denied me anything that really mattered. _Except_…he sniffed, leaning his head against Scotty's warm neck for a minute. Except when Ma died. Even you couldn't fix that. So maybe you can't fix this, either. He felt a sob escape him and was about to give in to a really good cry when he heard the carriage house door squeak on its hinges and a shaft of sunlight brightened the dimness. He straightened abruptly, swallowing hard and fumbling busily if uselessly with the harness buckles.

"Thought you might like some help."

Joe didn't bother to look up. "How's Pa?"

"Asleep, I think. Hop Sing is keepin' a eye on him."

Joe nodded, focusing on the buckle in his hands. "What were you thinking?" he blurted at last. "I thought you went crazy."

Hoss ducked his head over Brownie, the other horse, fussing with his tack. "Don't know what you mean."

"I mean at the – Amelia Fairchild! Hoss, I really thought you were going to hit her! A woman! I thought you'd gone crazy!" He was looking right at Hoss now, through damp and swollen and accusing eyes, saw Hoss pull in his lower lip and chew it thoughtfully.

"Had no right," he grumbled at last.

"What, to be at the funeral? She just came to pay her respects! I know she acted a little – weird – but funerals do that to people! We don't know how close she really was to Adam anyway!"

Hoss's head jerked up, his eyes blazing with an unholy light. "You take that back," he growled.

Joe stared at him in mounting exasperation. "Take WHAT back? Hoss, you ain't makin' any sense! I know David - "

Hoss's eyes narrowed. "I ain't talkin' about David – I'm talkin' about Amelia. I know how Adam felt about her – he was polite, that was all – jest polite. And she stalked him like a wounded deer."

Joe snorted. "So she liked him. So what. Ain't like that's so unusual. Lotsa girls had a thing for Adam. He was real good at handling that kinda thing – heck, I learned how to do it from him."

Hoss shifted his shoulders. "Was different with Amelia. You didn't see…even when they was real young. The way she looked at him when he weren't lookin'…she didn't jest…" he closed his eyes, trying to make himself clear. "He was like…a sickness with her. Tweren't natural. Tweren't healthy." He clenched his teeth. "An' now he's dead an' she STILL cain't leave him in peace. I tell you, Joe, if'n I could get my hands on her…" There was an odd snapping sound and they both looked, simultaneously, at the harness in Hoss's hands. It dangled in two torn pieces. Joe rubbed a hand over his mouth. Hoss blinked at the harness with blank eyes. "Reckon I'll need ta be fixin' that."

Joe cleared his throat. "Hoss – " he coughed and cleared it again. "You're really scarin' me."

Hoss dropped the harness, kneading his meaty hands together. "Sorry, Joe," he said quietly at last. "I – I guess it's all jest been…a little too much."

Joe nodded. "Hoss, I know how you feel about Amelia Fairchild, but…"

Hoss's eyes blazed again. "You weren't there, Joe – when we used to be out ta the saloon tagether – you didn't see her – so don't try an' tell me how ta feel about that!"

Joe shook himself, flabbergasted by his usually generous brother's sudden vehemence. "Okay, okay – " he lifted his hands. "I know that. I'm only sayin', well, things can change. I mean, if Adam felt that way he wouldn't have been up in her room the night he died, would he? I think Amelia was at the funeral because she was about the last person to see Adam alive."

"WHAT?"

The roar made Joe jump, and for a terrible second he thought Hoss was going to grab him by the collar and shake him. He took an involuntary step backward. "Hoss, I TOLD you – Sam said – "

"Then Sam's a flannel mouthed liar! And you didn't tell me nothin' of the kind or I'da called you one, too, Joe!"

"It's the truth!" Joe raised his voice to be heard over Hoss's roar. "That's where I got his watch, Hoss - Amelia left her purse behind in the saloon and Sam found Adam's watch in it! Said Adam had a drink with her then went up to her room! It's the truth, Hoss - Sam ain't got no cause to lie!"

Hoss's face worked strangely and Joe steeled himself for the next explosion. It never came. The anger rushed out of Hoss like air out of a punctured balloon. He looked around the carriage house as though trying to remember where he was, unconsciously patting Brownie's neck, then strolled over to the harness rack and stared at it, unseeing. Joe held his breath. Hoss turned around as if he wanted to say something, then sat down on a bench instead. Joe peered at him. He looked tired and pale, but more like the brother he recognized. 

"You okay, Hoss?"

Hoss scrunched up his face. "You say Adam went to 'Melia Fairchild's room that last night?"

Joe kept the team cautiously between them. "That's what Sam said. Ain't got no reason to lie."

Hoss shook his head. 

Joe shrugged. "Things change sometimes, Hoss. Maybe things changed between Adam and Amelia."

Hoss shook his head again, more firmly this time. "No. No, Joe - that ain't changed. That ain't it. If Adam went to Amelia's room willing-like then there's somethin'…if she was the last one…" he shook his head again, as if trying to shake water out of his ears. "Joe, I got the funniest feelin'. There's somethin' - somethin' peculiar - somethin' more goin' on here."


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Please note, this chapter and a few of the subsequent chapters contain fairly explicit violence and some adult language and are the main reason for the story's rating. If such content is disturbing to you, you may want to skip over them.

A faint squeaking filtered through the grey haze of semi-consciousness. He was getting good at identifying the different squeaks – well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. The persistent squeaking of the ropes around his wrists rocking against the hook. The bright, bouncy squeak of Amelia's feet scampering down the ladder like a squirrel. The heavy, portentous squeak of David's boot soles on the rungs. This squeak was loud and slow and measured. David, then.

He stiffened automatically. That was never good news. His head felt marginally clearer – more focused, the pain more urgent and acute. He had some convoluted memories…something about being drugged…and he was beginning to suspect that that was as much a part of his problem as the exhaustion and dehydration and David's little games. If he could avoid being drugged long enough he might be able to think clearly about escaping. On the other hand, he could only go so long without water. He sighed inwardly. _Every action has an opposite and equal reaction_ – or drawback, in this case. Thank you, Mr. Newton. But there had to be some way out of this – something he could do to help himself before his arms snapped off, at least. He tried to swallow around the dryness in his throat. And to think that he used to like puzzles.

He could hear David's approach across the hard packed dirt floor, the beam of the half-open lantern hood lighting his way. He kept very still. Maybe if David thought he was still out of it, it would ruin his fun and he'd go away. There was a hollow sound of metal on wood – putting the lantern on a barrel, no doubt - then he could feel an indistinct presence in front of him. David was tall – about as tall as he was himself – and even with the minimal light he seemed to cast a cold shadow over him_. Getting a little imaginative, Adam_…he scolded himself lightly. _Really have to get those drugs out of your system..._Thepresence just continued to stand there. Adam felt his breathing quicken despite himself.

Without warning, fingers tightened painfully in his hair and yanked his head up. "Come on, Cartwright – I know you're in there – "

Adam coughed before he could stop himself. His world swung dizzily, the muscles at the base of his neck shrieked a knotted protest. He pried his swollen lids half open, keeping his cloudy gaze cold and blank. 

"That's better." He could hear David Fairchild's smile, but he was having a hard time focusing on him. "Thought I'd come for a visit. 'Melia's busy."

Adam wondered vaguely why he never bothered with this when Amelia was around. It certainly couldn't be that he was afraid of her – David seemed to be nearly as brutal in his treatment of Amelia as he was in his treatment of him.

"Bet you wonder where she is."

Adam didn't answer. Experience had taught him that silence was every bit as likely to earn him a cuffing as speech and he figured he might just as well save his strength. The grip in his hair tightened, pulling brutally on the cuts and bumps that decorated his scalp. How many times had he been hit in the head since he got here? No point in counting – probably not as many as he would be. 

The grin in the voice grew. "Ah, come on – don't you want to know?" The fist clenched tighter still and he gave Adam's head a shake. Black stars dotted Adam's vision and for a second he wondered if he was going to throw up. With any luck, he could do it on Fairchild. No doubt he'd pay the price afterward, but it would be worth it. Despite himself, his lips curled into a stiff smile. "You think somethin's funny?" David wrenched Adam's head hard this time and the cellar dimmed in a rush of roaring sound. "You wanna good laugh? I'll tell you where she is then, big man – she's at your funeral. Got her blacks all together and went to comfort yer grievin' family. Guess it's pretty funny at that." 

David let go of his head with a push and Adam fumbled with nerveless, swollen fingers to try and get a grasp on the hook and steady himself. They bounced uselessly off of it and he swung in a sickening arc, the ropes razoring deep into his wrists. He bit the inside of his cheek until it bled to keep from screaming. 

Now, what was this about – some new game? His_ funeral?_ Between Amelia babbling about his wedding and David going on about his funeral he was beginning to think he'd lost his mind.

"Don't believe me?" David moved closer and Adam squinted hard, trying to study his face, to figure out what his game was. "You can believe me. They think you're dead. Think they just put you in the cold, hard ground forever. It was quite a to do, Cartwright, you can be right proud. Folks came from miles around to pay their respects. Your baby brother is pickin' fights all over town about it. And your Pa – well I figure you can guess about how he's doing."

Adam swallowed carefully, blood and bile, as his stomach rose up against him. He tilted his head at David – what – what was this new lie about? What did he expect…? If they thought he was dead there would be no money, and what would be…?

David smiled a slow, lazy smile. "Yeah, that's right," he agreed cheerfully, as though he had read his mind. "No money. That's okay. It weren't ever about the money. It was about the pain. I wanted yer family ta feel pain the way my family felt pain – yer Pa ta suffer the way my Pa suffered." He grabbed Adam suddenly by the collar with both hands and pulled him close. His voice dropped to a hiss. "I'll bet he is suffering now, don't you think? Suffering while he puts his boy in the ground? I'll bet he can't sleep or eat…makes me smile just ta think about it. I remember how it was when we was working together…how he used to look at you…like you was somebody…something special…"

Adam stared at him. Something new rose up inside him. He had been angry before – angry and outraged – but this was something different. Then he could be patient, could stay calm – he'd hurt before. No doubt he'd hurt again. He could take it. But this – this using him as a weapon to torture his family…David's grip on his collar was holding him close and steady. Almost without thinking, Adam thrust his knee up and forward with all the strength he could muster.

The results were rewarding. David let out a banshee-like shriek and dropped like a stone, half tearing Adam's shirt off as his hands stayed tautly entwined in the collar. The pressure it put on Adam's bleeding wrists was mind-numbing, but he barely noticed it. He smiled his first real smile in days. _Take that, you miserable son of a bitch. Hope I made you a permanent soprano._

David curled tight into a ball at his feet, his hands cradling his injured parts, whimpering and barely conscious. 

__

Good. No time like the present to make an escape. 

That's when it dawned on him. There WAS no escape. And while being able to fight back at last had been satisfying, when Fairchild recovered himself…and he had all the time in the world to do it…Adam gulped. _Might not have been one of your most shining moments, Cartwright…unless you can get yourself down from here, and fast…_agonizingly, he tried to twist his atrophied neck muscles to look at the hook above him. 

He needed to get the ropes over that somehow – get down and make a run for it…the thought of running in his current condition almost made him laugh, but adrenaline was thundering through his veins now and he wasn't ready to give up. Not now – especially not now, now that he knew what he did. When Fairchild got himself in hand again he would probably kill him outright and he had no intention of dying – not before he could get home. And he needed to get home, to assure his father and brothers that he was still alive…that it was all a horrible, cruel lie…he tried to bend his turgid fingers, to make them work for him just one more time. The motion of the ropes in the gaping channels cut into his wrists was making him light-headed, but he forced himself to ignore it_. Life or death, Adam_, he told himself sternly. _Swallow the pain now and you can pass out later._ His fingers moved a little, bumping futilely against the metal. At his feet, David moaned and stirred. A cold sweat broke out all over him at the sound.

He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate only on his hands. _You can do this_, he chanted to himself. _Come on, you can…_the fingers bent a little_. _One slid underneath the rope. He hardly dared breath. 

He tried to get some purchase with his sweaty, blood slick hands against the smooth metal, braced the bottom of one palm over the tine, trying to lift up and over. His right hand had a little bit of a grip, now…if he could just force his aching arms to work for him…one loop of rope slid over. He gasped aloud.

The sharp time was digging into his bloated palm, but it was helping to hold him up a bit and he didn't dare shift it. He tried to get a real grip with his right hand without dislodging the left one. He was going to try and heft himself up with a kick of his legs, but he had to be careful – one wrong move and he'd lose his precarious hold. Praying every prayer he knew, he steadied himself. David groaned again, pushing himself onto his elbows. Adam clenched his jaw to keep from panicking. _Come on…you can do it…come on…_he smiled a little in his giddy, reeling brain. That's just the way he used to comfort himself when he was small and he woke up in the dark in some strange place along the trail. Funny, how you tended to revert…funny how you treated one bogeyman pretty much like another, real or imaginary…his right hand woke up a little more, curled weakly around the base of the hook near the ceiling. He took a deep breath and kicked. 

He rose slightly, his legs scissoring in the air. The second loop nudged over the hook tine and he grappled with his damp and slippery hands, trying to maintain his grip. The tine settled back, pushing into his left palm. _One more…one more and he was a free man…_his body was throbbing with the strain, dragging with exhaustion, but he was almost there…trying to steady his swaying, he kicked one more time. The third loop of rope lifted, nipped at the tip of the hook – then something reached up out of the dimness, wrapped around his ankle and yanked him downward.

His fragile hold broke. The hook tine buried itself deep in the heel of his hand, ripping a jagged furrow the length of his palm as the downward momentum of his weight drove it through the flesh, tearing it open. The ropes brought him to a sudden, tooth-jarring stop, chopping so savagely at his injured wrists that for one blurry moment he was sure someone had taken an axe to them. This time he did scream.

Warm blood spattered from his gored palm onto his face and shoulder…_guess there was some blood left in my hands after all_, he thought, half-hysterically. The weight on his ankle disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, but he knew better than to be relieved. He tried to open his eyes and look, but he was sick and dizzy and malevolent black spots swam in his vision. 

Sharp-edged knuckles drove into his mouth with an audible crack and he felt his lower lip give way in a burst of blood. He twisted and spun in a queasy circle, like some horrible parody of his old rope swing. Wild with pain, he kicked out at his attacker, felt the toe of his boot make contact. There was a grunt and a thud and for a moment he felt triumph, acting only on instinct now, heedless of the consequences. The consequences were almost immediate. 

Something - a board or a rod of some kind, perhaps, slammed into his knee with an impact that made the world go black. For a moment he hung, suspended in nothingness - and then his knee seemed to burst into flame. He didn't scream this time - the wave of anguish that shot up his leg seared his brain and left him mute. There wasn't much fight left in him after that. 

He knew he was hit again, and yet again, perhaps, but he dangled like a rag doll, swinging helplessly before the blows. There was no pattern to them, no way to prepare himself for them…they were as unpredictable in their tempo as they were predictable in their reoccurrence. He heard, as if at a great distance, a new squeaking sound, and then shouting. The roaring was back in his ears, so the sounds were indistinct, but he tried to pay attention - to listen. Anything to take his mind off the pain, off the tug and jerk of his body against the ropes. He thought he felt his shoulder give in some strange way, but it was impossible to tell anything for sure now - to distinguish any individual injuries…they all ran together, covering him like a sheet of suffering. The shouting got closer - and then the blows mysteriously stopped.

"…the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?"

Was that Amelia…? No…a man…it sounded…actually, it sounded quite a bit like…David. Like David yelling at David. 

"What are you doing to him? Why is he hanging up like that? Sweet Jesus, David, what are you thinking?"

He tried to peel his gritty lids open far enough to see. It…looked like David. Like David fighting with David. Over him. Maybe he really was losing his mind. Well, small wonder. 

He saw David glare at Other-David. Other-David gave him a push. He liked this David. Maybe they could keep this one and get rid of the other.

"You're gonna kill him! Jesus, I'm not sure you haven't! What's all that blood? He ain't worth anything to us dead!"

Ah. So the David who wasn't David wanted money…David who was David wanted revenge…and Amelia…what did Amelia want? He had flashes of scattered memory of her time with him and he shuddered. Okay, maybe he knew…good God…but surely they couldn't all get what they wanted? It didn't make sense! If only he could figure out how this game worked…

"You're right." Which one was that? Were there really two? God, he felt like he was trapped in one of those ridiculous morality plays, where a man's good angel talked to one side of his character and the devil talked to his other side… "I don't want him dead." _No? Could've fooled me. Make up your mind, David…God, I wish somebody would explain the rules of this game to me…_

"Good." Ah. His good angel David. "I'll cut him down and bandage him up."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? He's bleeding, David - use your head! You want him to survive I've got to do something!"

There was a long silence during which Adam didn't even let himself hope. 

"All right," David's voice was cautious. "You can doctor him up, but he stays on the hook." Other-David started to protest, but David cut him off. "You don't know him like I do. He's sneaky. He'll get away the minute somebody's back is turned. Patch him up, if you want, but leave him where he is."

There was another long pause and Adam felt himself drift. "I gotta go get bandages and stuff then." Other-David didn't sound very happy about it.

"So go. Oh, don't worry - I don't want him dead any more than you do."

"All right…" Other-David started to move away. _Damn. Why did he have to be the one to leave? _"But - you don't touch him while I'm gone, David - I mean it. He ain't gonna last for us to collect nothin' if you don't lay off."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

Adam heard the retreating squeak of Other-David's boots on the rungs and sagged against his bonds.

"Oh, don't fret…" David must still be watching him. The thought filled him with helpless rage. "I meant what I said. I don't want you dead. I mean it. I plan on keeping you alive just as long as I can. A long, long time."

Adam's heart bumped against his ribs. **_No_**. Just - no. He had to get out of here. He had to get free or, if he wasn't crazy already, he surely would be. 

That's when a new idea rose through his thoughts. In his anger and his indignation he hadn't really realized…

__

They thought he was dead. 

There was no ransom, no search, no rescue - they thought they had buried him. As far as they were concerned, they knew exactly where he was - under six feet of earth and a fancy headstone. That hit his solar plexus in a way that David's fists never could. 

They were mourning him, no doubt, but they certainly weren't looking for him. No one was coming. He was on his own.

*

"ADAM!" Ben sat up with a start, his pulse racing. "Adam - " he blinked about him. Sunlight streamed through the window. It was late morning, from the look of things. What on earth was he doing in bed? Why was he shaking as if…? The events of the morning rushed in on him and he sank back with a groan. Oh, Adam. Oh, God…he became aware of a presence in the doorway and he looked up. Hop Sing stood there with a towel in one hand and a glass in the other, his expression questioning. Ben closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry if I alarmed you, Hop Sing."

Hop Sing didn't move. "Boss okay?"

"I'm - " He wasn't anything like okay, but Hop Sing knew that. "I - had a dream, is all. I - "

Hop Sing came further into the room. "Missa Adam ghost walk?"

Ben pushed himself up and stared at him. "I - beg your pardon?"

"Second time you call for Missa Adam. He visit your dreams? Ghost walk?"

Ben blinked. He forgot, sometimes, that what seemed incredible to him in his culture was very matter-of-fact to Hop Sing in his. He hesitated. It would be wonderful to be able to talk about the images that haunted him. Haunted him - Hop Sing was right…Adam was haunting him, and despite the fact that they'd buried him, he couldn't feel that he was at rest. And Hop Sing…Hop Sing was not looking at him with pity or fear or concern. He had asked him a serious question. Maybe he knew some magic for banishing these demons…not that he was sure he wanted them banished. Adam's haunting was horrible, but better than having him gone all together, maybe. "I…think he might be. What do you know about these things, Hop Sing?"

Hop Sing came further into the room and took a seat in a chair near the bed, his face contemplative. "Ghosts walk when they not at peace - unfinished business, maybe, or something important to tell loved one. Missa Adam tell you something?"

Ben felt a lump rise in his throat. "He - " He looked at Hop Sing helplessly. "He - tells me that he needs me. Asks me to help him." His voice caught and he paused to get it under control. He gazed at Hop Sing pleadingly. "I keep finding myself in this dark, cold place - like a mine, maybe - or…" he caught his breath, "…a grave…" Hop Sing nodded briskly. His detached, clinical manner somehow comforted Ben and he hurried on. "Of course, this was even before we buried him. He calls for me, and he sounds so weak, so desperate…I don't know what to do, Hop Sing. I don't know what to do to help him. All his life, it was so hard for him to ask for help, and now that he does…" he buried his face in his hands for a minute. When he looked up again, Hop Sing was nodding thoughtfully.

"You ask Missa Adam what he want? What he need tell you?"

Ben peered at him. Hop Sing seemed in deadly earnest - did not seem to think anything he was telling him was the least bit crazy. "N-no…"

"Next time, you ask him. Ask him why he no rest now - what he need you know. Ask him what help he need."

"He says he needs me." Ben's voice was very soft.

"Boys always need father - this life and next one. That natural. Ghost walk, though - something troubles. You ask. Missa Adam tell you how to help."

Ben felt some of the ache leave his chest. "I will, then, next time. Thank you, my friend."

"Hurt hands?"

"What's that?" Hop Sing gestured with his head and Ben looked down to see he was rubbing his wrists. "Oh - I don't think so. Have a sort of ache there I can't seem to get rid of, though. Hope it's not the start of rheumatism."

Hop Sing stood up. "I fix you something for ache. You sleep more. Missa Adam visit again, you ask him what he need from you. I light special incense. We help Missa Adam to next world."


	23. Chapter 23

David moved himself in front of Adam. "Don't think I didn't see your wrists loose from those ropes." He shoved Adam's hands back through the loops and pulled up hard on the rigging causing additional blood to flow from his prisoner's hands. David felt a twinge of pain from below his belt – a reminder of his previous altercation with Adam. He planted a solid, angry punch firmly in Adam's stomach causing him to release a stifled groan. "That's for kneeing me, bastard. You better not have damaged the jewels or …" 

"David!" Duncan's voice echoed throughout the root cellar. "I thought you said you'd leave him alone while I was gone."

David stepped back, a wide evil grin adorning his face. "I owed him that one." 

Duncan worked himself between his brother and their captive. "I think you're quite a few up on him already," he mumbled as he set a silver basin on the floor. 

"What'd you say?" David asked defiantly.

"Nothin'." Duncan was busy soaking a cloth in the soapy water.

David moved towards the back wall and leaned against it, his arms crossed. "You better believe nothin'." He watched as his brother started cleaning Adam's cuts. "Ya know, Amelia's goin' to be mad you didn't let her do that." 

Duncan ignored him and continued the task of cleaning the gashes and bruises to the best of his ability. A wave of disgust washed through him as he noticed the heavy scabbing on several of the abrasions on Adam's head, face and wrists. "Jesus, David."

"What now?" David asked irritably.

"Have you been doing this since we brought him here?"

David had found an apple and was busy taking a bite of it. "I think he bruises easy, I've hardly touched him." 

Duncan gently pressed one of the purple knots on Adam's forehead and he heard him let out a soft groan. He tossed his twin brother a hardened glare. 

David smiled back innocently. "So Doc, you think he'll live, or what?"

Duncan frowned. He turned around and pointed his index finger at David. "You need to leave him alone or he ain't gonna make it. He's gotta be in good shape for us to get that ransom."

David moved forward as he finished his apple. "Don't worry, he will be." He tossed his apple core in the corner of the room. "I know how important that money is to you." He started up the root cellar ladder.

"To all of us," Duncan stated. "Where you goin'? I thought we were making the trade today?"

David stopped and turned his head towards his brother. "Oh yeah, well, there's been a slight change of plans in light of his current situation." A sly, wicked grin slid across his face. "'Sides, I'm thirsty." He continued up the stairs. "You keep workin' on him and we'll take care of business tomorrow. Sunday's supposed to be the day of rest." The sound of his wicked laughter slowly faded as he disappeared. Duncan let out a frustrated sigh and dipped the cloth back in the water. When he stood back up Adam's swollen eyes were slit open. Duncan let out a gasp of surprise; this was his first time face to face with their prisoner.

"Who…" Adam rasped out before starting to cough.

Duncan backed up, troubled by whether he should respond. This man had never done anything to him personally, but he had to his family. He'd heard his siblings' stories about the Cartwrights. Dozens of times. This man was responsible for the death of his father and the misfortune of their ranch. This man who he was now facing and trying to help. He looked around the dim room. Where was Amelia? She should be doing this. After all, she supposedly loved the guy - but she wasn't going to let them turn him over for the ransom. David, on the other hand, obviously hated their captive. Hated him so much that he'd torture him to death? Didn't David want the money as much as he did? Duncan sized up the battered body of the man hanging from the hooks. The ropes appeared to be fraying and his hands were dark with his blood. This wasn't right – the whole situation had somehow become … complicated. 

"Oh my god!" Amelia shrieked, "What have you done to him!" She moved forward and roughly pushed her brother back.

Duncan was stunned. The combination of David's taste for revenge, Amelia's delusions, and the stench of blood assaulted his senses. He felt like he was about to pass out. He looked at his sister – could see her mouth moving - but a deafening ringing was all he could hear. He stumbled from the root cellar and out the back door where he dropped to his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach on the ground. Their plan had started out so simple. No one was supposed to get hurt. At what point had it gone so wrong? 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Joe ran the brush absent-mindedly along the back of Scotty as he contemplated what his brother had said. If Adam was just being polite towards Amelia all these years then what was he doing in her room that night? Hoss was right, it was sounding kind of peculiar. He stepped from around the horse. "So, what do you think the whole bit with Amelia Fairchild was really about, Hoss?"

Hoss stood up slowly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I don't know." He walked to the door of the barn and gazed sadly towards the main house. "I'm kind of worried about Pa right now."

Joe dropped his head feeling a little guilty that he was obsessing more over the Fairchilds and their connection to all this mess then he was about his own family. He moved back to the horse and began brushing him – this time a little more aggressively. He had a right to grieve in his own way.

"Seems like Pa is having more and more of them visions of his," Hoss stated flatly. "Maybe Hop Sing can talk some sense into him. I ain't got the heart to listen to him talk about it. It's been hard enough accepting the fact that Adam's dead."

Joe's brushing slowed as he heard his brother actually say the words. "Well, I'm going to get to the bottom of this," he mumbled.

"How's that, Joe?" Hoss questioned with concern as he turned around.

Joe looked up at his gentle giant brother and shook his head. "Nothin', Hoss. Pa's our main concern now." He continued brushing.

Hoss nodded as he turned back towards the house. "Yeah, he is. I guess I'm gonna head back up there. See if there's anything I can do." He looked back over at his brother. "You comin'?"

Joe shook his head. "Naw, I'm gonna finish up here. I got some things to take care of."

Hoss gave a short nod. "All right." He furrowed his brow. "Should I be worried?"

Joe smiled. "I'm fine, Hoss. Just be sure to take care of, Pa. He needs you."

"He needs US, Joe," Hoss corrected.

Joe nodded his head. "That's what I meant."

Hoss turned and walked from the barn.

As Joe finished brushing Scotty he moved over to the other horse, Brownie. He couldn't get Hoss's words out of his head. _If Adam went to Amelia's room willing- likely then there's somethin'..if she was the last one…_. She WAS the last one to see him alive. He thought about the watch and how at the time he knew it was strange that Amelia would be in possession of it. He thought about Sam's words. _I suppose it must have fell out of his pocket when he…'Melia was probably keepin' it for him._ Amelia had been in possession of his brother's watch. A watch that Roy must have questioned her about. His answers were in Virginia City and he wasn't going to be able to sleep until he got them. If Sam or Roy didn't have them than maybe one of the girls at the saloon would. Somebody else had to have seen his brother leave the bar that night. Amelia herself said he'd walked out on her. He tossed the brush to the side, saddled up Cochise and rode off towards town. 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

David pushed open the batwing doors and scanned the room for the three jokers he had dealt with earlier that morning. It was late enough now that if they had been drinking all day they had either passed out or were so stinking drunk they'd be harmless in a fight.

"You come back to settle that bill?" Sam asked.

David thought for a moment. The saloon was his only safe haven from his crazy sister and his dolt of a brother. Perhaps it was worth the price for the peace and quiet it would bring him. He opened up his wallet and pulled out half the amount. "Here's some of it." He smacked it down on the bar. "I'll get you the rest when I can. I hope you at least charged those three hillbillies for some of the damages."

"You started the whole damn thing, why should I?" Sam questioned as he scooped up the bills.

"Well, it takes two to have a fight," David commented. "I mean a really GOOD fight."

Sam frowned. "You just get me the rest of it as soon as you can." He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and poured David a drink. "To show my appreciation this one's on the house."

David grinned as he picked it up. "Thanks, Sam. I guess you do have a heart."

Sam let out a low growl then waited on another patron. David laughed and turning, spied an empty table in the shadows of the saloon. He made his way over to it, knowing that he could keep an eye on the place without being observed. Considering his luck lately he figured that would work to his advantage.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

As Joe Cartwright rode into town he observed that Virginia City seemed quieter than normal – was it because it was the day of his brother's funeral or was that just egotistical thinking on his part? The saloon seemed alive in spite of the rest of city. He could hear the loud pounding of the piano keys and the roaring laughter of the saloon girls and drunks. He was glad – more people who might be able to answer his questions. He approached the hitching post and slid off his horse. As he wrapped the reins loosely around it he thought about what questions he was going to ask. Who would be the first person TO ask? He entered the saloon and was impressed to see a fairly large amount of people. He made his way through the crowd and up to the bar where Sam was busy pouring drinks.

"Heya, Sam!" Joe called out as he leaned against the wooden rail. "When you get a chance can I get a beer?"

"Sure thing, Joe," Sam responded immediately, pouring him one. "This one's on the house," he added, with seriousness in his eyes. He gave the young man a firm pat on the shoulder then continued to wait on his patrons.

Joe lowered his head and nodded as he took a sip. He was feeling a sense of awkwardness at being in town. They'd just had his brother's funeral that morning and now he was hanging out in the saloon. Course, that's where a lot of people came to drown their sorrows. It was a haven for forgetting the bad and hoping that tomorrow would dawn a better and brighter day. At least he was going to have a tomorrow. He nervously drank another long sip of his beer to settle himself. _Stay focused, Joe. Remember what you're here for. To find out information about the night Adam disappeared. Disappeared – that's a funny way of putting it. _He finished off his beer, set the glass down and turned around to face the rest of the saloon. There were a few finger points and mumbled conversations, but he didn't care. Someone had to have seen his brother that night. Someone besides Amelia.

"Joe Cartwright. Didn't expect to see you out and about tonight." It was Henry from the livery. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Evenin', Henry," Joe responded. "A drink would be great. Thanks."

Henry motioned towards Sam who quickly brought a shot of whiskey and another beer for Joe. Henry held up his glass. "To your brother, Adam. A finer man I never knew!" 

Joe clinked the man's shot glass and took a long sip. Joe thought about how long his family had known the older gentleman standing next to him. He'd always taken good care of their horses when they were in town. Joe was always impressed at how the man was so skilled at remembering the most minor details about people.

"Joe. I was real sorry to hear about Adam," Henry said sadly. "He sure was in a rush that night to get back to the ranch. Didn't have two words to say to me, just grabbed his horse and rode out."

Joe's eyes opened wide with interest. "You saw him that night?"

"Sure!" Henry laughed. "He had to get his horse, didn't he?" He took another sip of whiskey. "He wasn't lookin' so good. Had he been sick recently or somethin'?"

"What do you mean?" Joe asked.

"Well, his clothes didn't fit him right, they were kind of baggy." Henry laughed again recalling the events of that night. "He sure couldn't manage that horse of his very well either, must've had too much to drink." 

"Really," Joe responded quietly turning back around to face the bar. "Anything else you can remember from that night?"

Henry thought for a moment. "No, not really." He finished off his drink. "Just that I was sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye or chat with him that night. You never know, might've made the difference between him being there when the fire started and him not being there."

Joe nodded.

"Listen, I didn't mean to bring up those bad feelings. I just wanted to let you know I was sorry about your brother." Henry patted Joe's shoulder. "Will you let your Pa know I was askin' about him?"

Joe nodded more quickly.

"Thanks." He patted Joe's shoulder a few more times before disappearing in the growing crowd in the saloon.


	24. Chapter 24

Hoss stood for a moment in the entryway to the great room, listening. Except for the sounds of Hop Sing in the kitchen, everything seemed to be quiet. He let out his breath in a slow sigh. 

He was angry - he couldn't remember when he had last been so angry. Angry at Amelia for her little display at the funeral. Angry with Joe for telling him that cockamamie story about Adam and Amelia. And angry at…_come on, Hoss - admit it_…angry at Adam, for going and dying on him. _Tweren't right, Adam - you said you'd always look out fer me. You SAID._ He pushed irritably at the breakfront with his foot, winced as it slid a couple of inches across the floor. Damn. Had to watch that. Breaking up the furniture wouldn't help anybody. 

He wrestled it back in place and moved toward the fireplace, fighting an uneasy feeling in his stomach. Something weren't right. Aside from Adam bein' dead, somethin'_…_he reached for the poker, shifted a log that didn't really need shifting_. What were you doin' with Amelia Fairchild that night, Adam? Aint' nothin' in this world will ever convince me you were inerested in her - spent too many nights coverin' fer ya so's you could dodge her fer me ta believe that. So what'd she say ta ya ta get you to her room? An' how come I cain't let go of the idee that seein' her an' then dyin' ain't two unrelated coincidences?_

He rubbed at the back of his neck, sighing again. He wished he had somebody to talk to about this - some way to sound his thoughts out until they were clear. Didn't dare get into it with Joe - he was too likely to go off half-cocked and get himself in trouble. Usually, he…he felt his face work, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight for a minute. Usually, he went to Adam with this kinda thing. Adam had a way of putting things in perspective for him. Or just hearing him out. He hung his head, turning his back on the fireplace. Rich smells were starting to filter from the kitchen and he automatically wandered that way, finally poking his head through the door. 

Hop Sing didn't even glance up from the pastry he was rolling out on the table, but he asked, "Where Little Joe?"

Hoss moved further into the room. "Had somethin' ta do in town, once he finishes puttin' up the horses."

Hop Sing frowned. "Why he go town today? Not good."

Hoss shrugged uneasily. "He'll be all right, Hop Sing. Whatcha makin'?"

"Apple pie. For dessert."

Hoss nodded.

Hop Sing looked at him suspiciously. "You not snatch apples before I bake."

Hoss glanced indifferently at the blue bowl piled high with apple slices, fragrant with sugar-cinnamon. "Don't worry. Ain't especially hungry." Hop Sing's frown deepened, and he murmured something in Cantonese that Hoss couldn't make out. "How's Pa?"

"Him sleep."

"Yeah - good."

"Dream of brother - find out why him restless, maybe."

"Joe's been restless long as I kin remember. Jest natural."

Hop Sing gave him a withering look. "Other brother. Haunt father. Try to find out why."

Hoss's mouth dropped. "Huh?"

Hop Sing looked at him as though speaking to a very dim student. "Missa Adam. Visit fatha. Need to know why restless - why no rest in peace."

Hoss felt a shiver go down his spine. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I got that feelin' myself - that he ain't restin', somehow. Thought it was just because - well, thought it was just my own feelin's. But…you think there could be somethin' to that?"

Hop Sing stared. "Of course."

"Huh." Hoss leaned next to the bowl of apples, his face pensive. "So, you think maybe he might be restless if…well, maybe if, say, his death ain't been quite a accident? Somethin' like that?"

Hop Sing peered at him curiously. "Very good reason for ghost to walk. Why you ask this? What you thinking?"

"Well…" Hoss ducked his head, feeling a little foolish. "I - you - 'member that girl at the funeral? The one what grabbed onta Pa?" Hop Sing made a sound of disgust. Hoss nodded. "Yeah - her. I jest found out…well. Hop Sing, there's folks - trusted folks - what says Adam was up in her room right afore comin' back here an' gettin' caught in the fire. Now, I know how Adam felt about her - "

Hop Sing snorted. "Crazy girl. Missa Adam no take up with crazy girl."

Hoss brightened. "Now, see? That's what I think! Ain't no way! But these folks got no reason ta lie, so what I keep wonderin' is…"

Hop Sing stopped working his pastry and raised his eyebrows at him. "So you think, why then Missa Adam in her room?"

Hoss released his breath in a gust. "Yeah," he nodded vigorously. "That there's exactly my question. It just don't make sense. Or maybe it makes too much sense, if'n you look at things another way." He absently plucked an apple slice from the bowl and bit it, continuing to talk while he chewed. "I mean, don't it seem jest a might peculiar that Adam spent his last hours with a woman I know fer a fact he avoided, and by coincidence, she's also the sister of the man what swore revenge on Pa? The first person he suspected of the fire? Jest seems…peculiar."

Hop Sing's expression stilled. "Most odd," he agreed after a pause. "You think Missa Adam murdered?"

Hoss swallowed the apple slice with a gulp, reddening. "Now, I ain't sayin' that, exactly - I'm jest sayin' - well - somethin' ain't right."

Hop Sing nodded, mindlessly folding his pastry together and sprinkling flour on it. "Hop Sing agree. You tell father?"

"Pa? No - he's upset enough as it is."

"Little Joe?"

Hoss hesitated. "…some…but I don't want him goin' off half-cocked. You know how he is."

Hop Sing nodded again, dropping his pastry into a pie tin and unfolding it. "What you think you do, then?"

"I don' know…" Hoss automatically grabbed a handful of apple slices and gnawed at them thoughtfully. "Mebbe I gotta ask a few folks some questions."

Hop Sing tucked the pie crust neatly into the tin and started to pinch the edges. "Good idea. You ask living people, fatha ask Missa Adam - we find out what troubles him - what keep him here."

"Yeah," Hoss felt something tight and hard unwind inside him. "Yeah. It is. A real good idea." He grinned. "You know, Hop Sing - I reckon I'm a mite peckish after all."

Hop Sing glanced at his bowl of diminishing apple slices and rolled his eyes. "I see! I think maybe I need make pumpkin pie instead!"

*

Adam became vaguely aware of faint whimpering. For a moment he feared it might be his own, then he knew it wasn't - too high pitched. He struggled to identify it without taking the trouble to open his eyes.

"Oh, baby…oh, sweetheart, what have they done to you?"

__

Of course. Amelia. He pulled back deep inside himself and prayed she'd go away. Where had the Davids gone? He didn't hear them anywhere about. Had there really been two of them, or was he beginning a slow, relentless slide into madness?

"Oh…oh, how could they? Your beautiful mouth…"

His _mouth_? Was she kidding? Who cared about a little split lip? If she could see her way clear to do something about his hand, now - that would be helpful. Or his knee…

"He said he wouldn't mess you up…he promised me…he always does this…always ruins all my nice things…"

Nice _things_. Lovely. Thank you very much, Amelia. Funny, despite the gnawing pain of his injuries, his head was much clearer than it had been. Probably because no one had had a chance to drug him in a while. Not that a little something to take the edge off sounded entirely objectionable about now…

"I never could keep anything nice with him around…you have no idea…" She touched the damp cloth to his palm and he jerked, sucking in air sharply between his teeth. The jerk awoke a heretofore barely noticed thread of angry fire in his left shoulder and he gasped before he could stop himself. 

__

Enough. 

He was exhausted, battered; the drag on his arms and the cutting at his wrists was unbearable. For the first time, he felt like he really understood why animals caught in traps chewed off their limbs to escape. If he could think of a way to manage it, he would have tried it himself. 

"Oh, I know, darling - I know. I'm doing everything I can…"

"'Melia…" the words sounded strained and halting to his own ears. "You've got to…cut me down."

"Oh, Adam, you know I would, but…"

"Amelia!" his voice had a desperate edge. "Please. Cut me down."

She clung to him and for a moment and he was drowning in a wave of sickness, whether from the sudden pressure on his wounds or her touching him so intimately he couldn't be sure. "Oh, Adam, you know how David is! He'd kill me! Truly, he would!"

Adam swallowed carefully, shuddering, his skin chilled and burning at the same time. _You have a choice, Adam_ - he told himself grimly. _You can hang here like a side of beef and let the bunch of them do whatever they want to you, or you can fight back. Remember - nobody will be coming to help - so by whatever means, you need to get yourself out of here. You need to get yourself home_. He clenched his eyes tighter shut, picturing home for a minute…the great room fire…dinner on the table…the brandy decanter standing by for afterward…a book by his favorite chair…he felt Amelia snuggle more firmly against him, bit down on a prickle of revulsion. _All right, then. Fire with fire. _

"Amelia…" he made his voice as soft as he could manage with the dry throat and split lip. "Amelia, you have to get me down…" She must have noticed the change in his tome, because she became very still. _It was a start._ He took a deep breath. "I need my arms, Amelia..." _God, don't let me choke on this_..."I can't…touch you this way..." He felt her lift her head, pictured her studying his face. "I can't..." he swallowed. "Take you in my arms..." 

Amelia's hand caressed his cheek, then, after a minute, she pressed a fervent kiss on his neck. Adam willed himself not to recoil. "I can't…do anything, while I'm…" he let that trail off, partly for effect, partly because the talking was using his precious reserves of strength. 

"Oh, darling…" Amelia ran a lingering hand over his chest. Adam tensed himself to resist the urge to give her the same treatment he'd given David. "Oh, darling, I know…if only it weren't so dangerous…"

"Worth it…" Adam suggested, hoping his face didn't give away his real feelings. 

"Hm…" Amelia's hands traveled over the straining muscles of his back. He wanted to scream at her to get her damn hands off him, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. "You wouldn't try to get away?"

"We could…both get away…" _Liar, liar_…"Together. From David."

"You'd run away with me?" 

Something about Amelia's delighted tone was twice as scary as anything David had yet done to him, but he struggled to produce a smile anyway. It felt stiff and unconvincing, but he managed one. "Of course."

"Oh, darling…" Amelia tightened her arms around him. Adam ground his teeth together to keep from crying out. _For God's sake, Amelia…take it a little easy!_ She must have felt him tense, because she let go suddenly. "Oh, did I hurt you? I'm so sorry…" she stroked his cheek again. "…lover."

Adam ground his teeth harder, trying to maintain his parody of a smile. _As soon as I get home, _he promised himself,_ I am going to take a bath every single day, with Hop Sing's strongest yellow soap and the stiffest brush I can find - every day, until I've forgotten the feel of her hands crawling on me. Until I feel clean again_. He let out an inward sigh of relief as he felt her step back and away from him. 

"But lover, I'm not sure I can do it without hurting you more. If I cut the ropes, you're going to drop and I don't think I'm strong enough to catch you."

__

I don't care! Adam was screaming inwardly. _Just get me the hell down from here!_ But aloud he said, "That's…okay."

"How's he doin'?" 

Adam wanted to weep with frustration and disappointment. He had been so close. They had both been so involved in their conversation that they hadn't even heard anyone come down the ladder.

"You're a _fine_ one to ask!" Amelia's tone was snippy and indignant. "After what you did!"

"I didn't do nothin'! It was all David - heck it's the first I even saw the guy! I was just tryin' to clean him up some!"

__

Ah. Other-David. Go away, Other-David…I was just starting to make some progress here…

He could hear the suspicious pout in Amelia's voice. "You didn't hurt him?"

"'Course not! He ain't worth nothin' to me dead and…well…I ain't got the stomach for this kinda thing. It's…it's…disgustin'."

There was a thoughtful pause. "You think so?"

"'Course I think so! What kinda man do you think I am?"

Adam got his eyes open far enough to see Amelia shrug. "Just figured you were like Pa and David."

Other-David was staring at Adam, scratching thoughtfully at his own scalp. "This is what Pa was like?"

"Sure. Duncan…" _Duncan. Pa. Another brother? It made sense, with that face, but how…?_ "Duncan. I need your help. You see what David did. I gotta get him outta here, or he'll kill him." Adam held his breath. "Please, Duncan - he's too heavy for me to do it on my own - I don't want to hurt him more. Once we're away and safe, we'll send you the money anyway - all for you - you won't have to split it with anybody. You know he's rich."_ Not bad, Amelia…keep going_…"But it's gotta be now - before David gets back - please, Duncan…please…you're the brother I always wished I had…"

There was an endless pause. Adam tried to focus his wavering vision on Duncan's face, but his blank expression told him nothing. After a second, Duncan took a step toward him and he stiffened himself automatically, but Duncan didn't touch him - only stared, as though he was some complicated puzzle he was trying to work out. 

"All right," Duncan drawled slowly after a minute. "All right. I'm gonna do it. But I'm warnin' you. 'Melia - if David finds out about this? You're on your own. I don't know nothin'."


	25. Chapter 25

Ben made his way slowly down the stairs. They seemed longer than usual and his knees seemed to creak with every step. He felt as though he'd aged about ten years in the last week. Hoss was standing by the fire, pushing a log with his foot, Hop Sing was setting the table. He looked around the room, then paused. "Where's Joseph?"

Hoss glanced up from the fire. "In town."

"In _town_?" Ben's voice rose. "Jumpin' Jehosaphat, can't he stay away from there for one day? Especially - " he broke off abruptly, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Pa, he - he weren't foolin' around er nothin' - said he had somethin' important ta take care of. I believed him, Pa. Thought - well, thought maybe it'd make him feel better."

Ben dropped his hand from his eyes, took a deep breath. "I - very well, son. He'll be here for dinner, though?"

"He - he didn't say, but - I figger he will, Pa."

Ben nodded distantly. "We should - all - eat together today."

Hoss wrinkled his forehead uneasily. "Reckon Little Joe knows that."

Ben stared at the table, his eyes filling. Three place settings. Not four. Never four again. Blindly, he turned away, looked for something to cover his distress. "I'll set out the brandy…" he murmured, going to the cupboard and lifting down the decanter and three glasses. He started to set it out on the usual table when he had a sudden flash - almost as though he was seeing it through someone else's eyes…"Adam?" he didn't even realize he'd called aloud. The decanter slipped from nerveless fingers and smashed against the floor. 

"Pa?" He felt, just vaguely, Hoss's strong grasp on his arm, wavering for a moment between two places and worlds - a quick glimpse of images - the fire - the table - the brandy - Adam's chair and book…he automatically turned his eyes to the blue chair, seeking out the book that appeared so clearly in his mind's eye…nothing. He dropped his head into his hands. "Pa, what is it? You okay?"

"I - " Ben leaned against Hoss for a minute, shaken. What was this? Was he losing his mind? Sinking into the sort of depression that had visited him when Marie died? _Is that you, Adam? What is it, son? What do you want of me? Tell me, please - I'll do whatever you need. You know that_. But the thread was broken and the images disappeared as quickly as they had come. All in his imagination, maybe. "I'm all right," he stammered at last. "I'll - clean this up - "

Hoss helped him to his feet, while Hop Sing showed up, seemingly from nowhere, with a dust pan and broom and mop. Hop Sing began efficiently picking through the glass while Hoss guided him to his red leather chair. 

"You sure you're okay, Pa? Do you need Doc Martin?"

Ben shook his head.

Hop Sing scrutinized him. "Missa Adam? You see him?"

Ben rubbed a hand over his chin, trying to recall the fleeting images clearly in his mind's eye. "I don't know, Hop Sing," he said at last. "I honestly don't know."

*

Adam tried not to flinch as Duncan studied his wrists. 

"Do you want me to get a knife?" Amelia piped.

"Naw…" Duncan ran a thumb over one of the ropes and Adam couldn't hold back a shudder. "Gonna lift him down, I think. Kinda afraid ta touch these - some of the skin has scabbed right around the ropes - pro'bly better if a doctor does it." Adam closed his eyes again in an attempt to banish that appalling image. "All right - you ready? Your arms are gonna cramp some after I free 'em, I figger…" Adam gave a short nod. "Here goes…" Duncan hooked an arm around Adam's ribcage and lifted, using his other hand to guide the ropes over the hook. Even being lifted released some of the incessant pressure from his arms and a gasp of sheer relief escaped Adam. 

Duncan was strong, but Adam's weakness made him heavier, and Duncan dropped suddenly to his knees, bringing an inert Adam, his arms falling lifelessly forward, with him. 

"You awake? Still with me?" Adam's head had fallen to Duncan's shoulder, hiding his face, but he nodded tersely. "Good." The shoulder muscles began to jump in spasms under Duncan's grip and he reached up automatically to rub them. After a second he paused. "Yer shoulder out?"

Adam was struggling to lift his head. "Think - so," he managed jerkily.

"Then I'd better leave them ropes on fer sure - keep it more stable. You gonna be able to get goin'? Cause I think you folks better move if yer gonna."

Adam used his bound hands to push away from Duncan. "Yes…" he hissed as forcefully as he could manage. 

"Good. I'll help ya up - then I'm makin' myself scarce. 'Member, 'Melia - if David finds out - I don't know nothin'"

Amelia threw her arms around him. "Oh, thank you, Duncan - how can I ever thank you?"

"You can try not forgettin' about that money, fer starters, and don't overbalance me while I'm tryin' ta - whoa…" He had been levering Adam to his feet, made a sudden snatch at him as Adam's right leg gave under him. "What the heck…? Damn." He noticed Adam's disfigured knee straining against the cloth of his jeans. "He get you there, too?" Adam nodded mutely, trying to get a grip on Duncan with his useless hands, trying to make himself steady in the whirling and heaving of room. He heard Duncan sigh somewhere near his ear, then his head seemed to disappear out of earshot for a second and the next thing he knew, he felt a shoulder in his stomach and he was dangling head down. _Oh. Well, probably the most practical solution_… "I'm gettin' you up that ladder the fastest way I know, friend, and then we're partin' company. Good luck to ya both."

Adam closed his eyes against vertigo as Duncan navigated the ladder. The cramping in his back and shoulders was becoming vicious, but all in all, it was still a relief - a different kind of pain to focus on for a change. He felt a sudden shift of position and had to resist the urge to clutch at Duncan as he rolled him over his head and onto the floor above, the boards suddenly smooth and cool against his back. The first time he had been able to lie down in…how long? He opened his eyes, closed them again hastily against the burning brilliance of the light, tried to maneuver his arms as a shield for them. _Well, this was excellent, then - blind, one-legged and no-armed. It should be an escape of tragio-farcical proportions._ He lay as still as he could, breathing hard. He felt Duncan pat his good leg, heard his footsteps as he took himself away, recognized the sounds of Amelia's feet on the rungs of the cellar ladder and the smell of her cloying perfume; her greedy, grasping touch on his cheek. He clenched his teeth until they ached to keep the words he was thinking from pouring out through his bloodied lips. _Too close now to risk it - just keep your head a little longer. _

He took a careful breath. "Amelia…you need to…saddle up a couple of horses…"

He sensed her pause. "Oh, no, Adam - there isn't time!"

He took a deeper breath, willed himself patience. "Amelia, I clearly can't…walk, never mind run…"

"But I'm not sure you can ride, either - the wagon, maybe - "

Adam ground his teeth. "Too - slow. Can't go - cross-country."

"But - " she stroked his arm. "one horse, then - we can ride double."

The flirtatious note to her voice made him queasy, but he continued doggedly, "Too…slow. Two horses…Amelia, you have to hurry."

He could almost picture the pout again. "Oh, all right. But I'm not really much of a horesewoman, you know - and I think you'll just fall off…"

"I won't…fall off…" Not while his life depended on it, he wouldn't. 

"Well, all right…oh, Adam! Let me just dash and get the pattern I picked out for my wedding dress…!"

Adam fought not to yell out in frustration. "Amelia…" he whispered at last. "I will buy you whatever wedding dress you want - anywhere - San Francisco, anywhere - if only you do NOT do anything right now except saddle up a couple of horses…" he trailed off, drained by the length of his speech.

Amelia giggled. "Oh, Adam. That's so romantic!" He felt the brush of her lips on his, felt the fabric of her skirt dust his arm as she went by, heard her quick feet cross the floor and descend the steps outside. He lowered his bound hands carefully from his eyes again. _Damn, that hurt_. Squinting as hard as he could, he tried to turn himself over. _One_…he rolled part way onto his left shoulder, cried out and fell back onto his back as the dislocated joint screamed a protest. _Okay, it would have to be the right side, then. Two_…he tried to snatch some purchase on the floorboards with his swollen, deadened fingers, lost his grip and sank back, whispering every swear word he had ever heard. He took two deep breaths. _Come on, Adam - giving up is not an option_…he tried again with a mighty heave, teetered for a moment, then dropped onto his stomach, squashing his bloody hands under him and slamming his throbbing knee into the floor. His eyes watered and the scape behind his eyes dimmed. _Damn, damn, damn…I don't have time for this…_he gave himself two more breaths, peered as best he could against the blinding daylight and pushed himself carefully up onto his good knee, dragging his bad leg behind him. _Hope you're quick with those horses, Amelia_...painstakingly, he began to inch himself across the floor.

Under other circumstances, his slow, limping progress would have made him chuckle, but now he had no breath or thought to spare for amusement. Every ounce of strength and focus he had was concentrated on traversing the short distance from the root cellar door to the back kitchen door, which glowed like an incandescent rectangle before him. The door to heaven itself had probably never looked half so bright. He fixed it in his mind so that he could close his light-starved eyes again and still keep moving forward, felt his left knee slide out from under him and land him back on his stomach with a bump. The pain was sickening, but he didn't dare even pause to let it register. _So close, now. So close._ Still on his stomach, he continued his crawl forward, pulling with his twitching, cramping arms as best he could. _Almost…just a little bit_…He became aware of an odd uneveness in the floor and his heart leapt into his throat, almost choking him. 

__

The doorsill. Thank God. Now, if Amelia had the horses ready…if she hadn't been distracted by God-knows-what…trying to make his right hand work, dragging the left hand along with it, he felt his way over the doorsill. And froze. _That felt like…Amelia's? No…too big…Duncan's._ _Oh, God, let that be Duncan's boots_…he squinted one eye open, looking up from the boot toes to the jean legs…

"Well, well, well…" the voice was soft. "What have we here?" 

__

Not Duncan.

In a surge of desperate strength he pushed himself up from the floor - almost made it back onto his right knee, almost got in a futile snatch at one of David's legs. Almost. Before he could get his shaky balance, David's foot came forward, planted itself in the center of his chest and pushed. He tumbled back almost the whole, meticulous distance he had come, the impact with the floorboards rattling his teeth and radiating through his back like a hammer blow. The world swam around him. 

He heard David's boots cross the space between them, could barely, through the glaring shadows, make out the boot coming at him again. Vainly, he tried to loop the boot with his flaccid arms, felt the kick stop as he snagged it and David struggled for his balance. _One for my side_. He trapped it between his arm and his side and held on like a terrier.

David cursed harshly, trying to shake his foot free, lowered it instead and pushed again with all his might. 

Adam felt the floor suddenly disappear beneath him, felt something solid and spindly bounce off of his back - then he was rolling steeply downhill, over and over, out of control. Something hard and cold and damp rose up and smacked full length against him, stopping his progress. He didn't move.

He lay breathless, clinging mindlessly to some remaining fragment of consciousness. Everything hurt. That was all he could think of, really, over and over, like an off-key, strident melody…everything hurt…everything hurt…everything hurt so badly…he distantly made out Amelia's voice, followed by a scream, then a slap, then quiet sobbing. His heart ached. _My fault. Sorry, Amelia. Sorry, didn't mean_…there was some yelling, too - flickering in and out of the twisted shadows in his brain…lots of yelling…

It came to him, after a bit, that what had slammed into him was the floor. He eased his lids apart and the light no longer assaulted them…it was darker here…it was…ah. The cellar. Back in his old prison. For a moment despair swallowed him up in an overwhelming tide. He pressed his forehead into the dirt floor and almost wished he were still young enough to cry. _Come on, Adam - buck up - you were never much of a crier anyway_…he noticed he was lying in a patch of light - the root cellar door must still be open above him. The yelling increased in volume. No wonder it was so clear. He shivered against the damp floor.

Maybe they'd forget to close the door and he could try to escape again later. Maybe…the yelling stopped abruptly with the slamming of the kitchen door and he lolled listlessly against the floor, sick and spent. Maybe…David had gone off somewhere to drink. Maybe…he would leave him in peace, just this once. He closed his eyes and let himself drift now. At least he was lying down for a change, lying still. Maybe he could sleep. Maybe David had lost interest in the game. 

He was floating in a twilight land between sleep and unconsciousness when a familiar sound roused him, making his heart hurl itself wildly against his ribs. 

He shut his eyes tight, too worn and hopeless to do anything but wait…wait and listen…as the familiar squeak of boots against the ladder rungs closed in.


	26. Chapter 26

The sound of Little Joe riding into the front yard caused Ben and Hoss to look up from their dinner. Ben wrinkled his brow, then set his fork on his plate before wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Well, it's about time your younger brother got home."

It wasn't long before they heard the clank of the front door and the rustling of Joe as he stripped off his jacket and hat and hung them up. He crossed the room towards the stairs obviously not noticing his brother and father sitting at the dining room table.

"Good evening, Joseph," Ben called out calmly. "Aren't you going to join us for dinner?"

Joe stopped at the foot of the staircase, turning back around to exchange glances with his older brother who quickly dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry, Pa. I um, didn't know we'd be eating together tonight."

"Of course we are - of all nights," Ben responded.

Hoss picked at the pile of mashed potatoes sitting on his plate, a feeling of sadness washing through him.

Hop Sing entered from the kitchen with a plate piled high with fried chicken, mashed potatoes and some beans. "You eat, Missa Joseph, keep you strong and alert." The Chinese cook placed the food on the table in front of   
the chair where Joe always sat.

Joe nodded as he made his way to the table, slowing as he passed the empty chair where his oldest brother had always sat. As soon as he sat down he began to devour his food like he hadn't eaten in days. Well, the truth of the matter was, he hadn't. With everything that had been going on none of them had been in the mood to eat much of anything.

"So," Ben started. "What were you doing in town?"

Joe's fork stopped on its path to his mouth. "Uh, nothin' much, Pa. Just checkin' on a few things. That's all." He quickly finished his bite.

"Well, what kind of things, may I ask?"

Hoss looked up with interest. He had a pretty good idea what Joe was checking on, but he wondered if he would tell their father. His younger brother had the look of a cat cornered.

Joe looked at Hoss who gave him a slight shake of his head, then he looked at his father who was looking at him waiting for his answer. "I was um…" He lowered his head and started to pick at his food. "A headstone."

Ben stiffened. "What did you say?"

"I was, um…" He raised his head and looked at his father. "I went into town to talk to Sylvester about…" He looked to Hoss then dropped his head, trying not to choke on the words. "About getting Adam a headstone." The room went quiet. 

Ben picked up his glass of wine and took a long sip. Setting the glass back down he wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Thank you, Joseph," he responded gruffly. "That needed to be done."

Hoss watched as Joe tried to finish the rest of his dinner. He wasn't sure why his brother had chosen to say that; his father was right, it had needed to be done - but he knew that wasn't what Joe had gone to town for. It was obvious the guilt was weighing heavily on Joe as he picked at the rest of his food. Suddenly he stood up and pushed his plate away. "I have to see to Cochise," Joe stated as he left the table. "I'm sorry, Pa."

Hoss watched his youngest brother leave the room then slowly turned and looked at his father. There was a haunted sadness that lingered in his deep, dark-brown eyes. Hoss so badly wanted to say something that would bring them all comfort, but he couldn't think of anything. Instead he slowly turned and looked at the empty spot at the foot of the table. Please, Lord, don't let this family fall apart, he prayed.  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~  


Joe aggressively brushed down his horse. He hadn't wanted to lie to his father, but he just couldn't tell him his real reason for being in town. His information would've only upset his father further.

"You keep that up, little brother, Cochise ain't gonna have any hair left." Hoss moved up next to the paint horse and leaned against her rear flank. "You um, okay?" Joe ignored his older brother and continued to brush his horse. "You didn't go into town about a headstone, did you, Joe?" 

Joe's brushing motion slowed then picked back up again.

"Well, I've been thinkin' - 'bout what you said 'bout Amelia Fairchild and all," Hoss continued. "Did you come up with anything in town?"

Joe stopped what he was doing and stood up. "I thought you told me to leave it alone and worry about, Pa?"

Hoss straightened and walked over to a bale of hay. "I did." He dropped himself down onto it. "But when have you ever listened to me?"

Joe smiled as he dropped the brush and walked over towards his brother. "So, you'll help me?"

Hoss nodded. "But if this thing starts smellin' like a wild goose chase then we call it quits. Deal?" 

Joe nodded. "And we agree to NOT say anything to Pa, unless we have some sort of solid information." 

Hoss nodded. "Those visions of his are keeping him confused enough without us giving him any additional false hope.

Joe sat himself down beside his brother.

"Joe, you think there's somethin' to those dreams he keeps havin'?" Hoss questioned. "I mean, Hop Sing seems to think so. Says it's Adam tryin' to communicate with Pa."

Joe laughed. "It all sounds kind of crazy to me, but if it makes Pa feel better then Hop Sing can go right on telling him that."

"Yeah, but what if there is something to it," Hoss replied. "I mean, what if Adam really can communicate to Pa through his dreams. He could tell us who started that fire."

"That wouldn't be good enough to convict anyone," Joe answered. "Adam always said we needed cold hard facts to convict a man and that's what I plan on finding."

"Or woman, for that matter."

"What?" Joe asked.

Hoss wrinkled up his brow and pulled his knee up tighter to his chest. "Well, how do we know it wasn't Amelia that might have killed Adam."

Joe settled back digesting his brother's comment. "That's a good point, Hoss, but why would she show up at his funeral if she'd killed him."

Hoss scratched his head. "'Cause she's strange. I don't know, it was just a thought. You say that Adam was up in her room that night which makes her the last person to see him alive."

"Nope. Turns out Henry was." Joe interjected.

"Henry?"

"Henry saw Adam ride out of the livery that night," Joe answered. "Said Adam was in a real hurry."

"Well, he was late meeting, Pa, Joe," Hoss replied.

"Yeah, but you know how observant Henry is," Joe continued. "He said he thought Adam's clothes looked to be hanging off him and he couldn't control the horse very well."

"You think it was Amelia riding his horse?"

"No, I'm just saying it might not have been Adam." Joe finished.

"You're not making any sense," Hoss replied with frustration. "Then who was it? The Sheriff had David already locked up."

"Did he?" Joe questioned. "We don't know what time that was, just that David was already locked up by the time the fire would have started."

Hoss shook his head. "It all sounds so complicated."

"We need to talk to Roy and find out," Joe said softly. Brightening, he turned to Hoss. "You willing to ride to town with me tomorrow and see if we can find out some answers?"

"Sure would beat sittin' 'round here," Hoss answered as he stood up and stretched. "I think I'm going to go to bed and get some rest. It's been a long day."

"Yeah," Joe responded. "I'll be up in a minute."

"Alright. 'Night, Joe," Hoss replied as he walked towards the house. He stopped and turned back towards his brother. "Oh, and Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we really ought to order that headstone, huh?"

Joe smiled. "Maybe. 'Night, Hoss."

  



	27. Chapter 27

Ben sat up in bed with a start, trying to remember what had woken him. The darkness seemed for a moment a mere extension of his dream and he blinked, trying to orient himself. After a moment his heart slowed its frenetic thunder and he took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes at nothing. Good God. It had been so real. 

He threw back the covers, fumbling for his dressing gown and slippers, and pulled open his bedroom door. The hall was empty and quiet. Well, of course it was – Hoss and Joe would be in bed asleep, like sensible people. Tugging at the belt of his dressing gown, he marched slowly past first Joe's room, then Hoss's, then paused outside the next door. He hadn't set foot in there since…he turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

He wasn't sure what he had expected to see. Maybe part of him had thought he'd find Adam in his bed, sound asleep, but another part, the reasonable part, had known better. He looked around the room, so quiet and peaceful – the guitar against the wall and the book lying face down on the table by the bed as though he might return to them at any moment. After a second's hesitation he entered, ran a finger down the spine of the book. 

__

What were you reading before you died, Adam? Ah. George, Lord Byron. Always good company. Bad, mad and dangerous to know, someone had once said. _Like so many of Adam's friends_, he thought ruefully. He sank down onto the bed. 

__

I swear, Adam, I hear you calling to me – as clearly as if you were alive and in this room, I hear you – just like I used to when you were sick and called for me in the night – I keep trying to reach you, son, but I don't know how. I feel like you're not really gone at all, but are here somewhere, just out of my reach, if only I knew how to find you. How do I find you? Tell me, please. 

That brought back his dream full force and he shuddered. What a strange thing to dream about after all these years. Maybe he really was losing his mind. He saw the music box tucked behind the book and touched the lid impulsively. Always before, all through Adam's life, he had asked for Liz's help whenever their son was in trouble. It had become as automatic as breathing. He let his hand rest there for a moment_. Is he with you now, Liz? Are you looking out for him?_ He frowned, suddenly unsettled. He felt so…he lifted his hand slowly from the box, pushed himself off of the bed. Was she trying to tell him something? And if so, what? He let his eyes roam the room once more, soft and silvered with moonlight, looking for…what? Adam? Why did he seem so much more here than gone? 

"Just out of reach…" he murmured out loud. "Just out of…" He shivered. He needed to think - that was it. Needed some time to think and a nice hot drink to keep him warm. Half-reluctantly, he moved to the door, pausing in the doorway to look once more. "Are you here, son?" he whispered. "Are you here?" The silence almost seemed like an answer.

He pulled the door carefully closed behind him and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, heading for the stairs. A little coffee, maybe, to warm him up. No - then he'd never sleep. Tea, then. Hop Sing always had all those teas of his lined up in the pantry. Surely one of them would do.

The moonlight helped to light his way to the kitchen. Not that he needed it. He knew this house like he knew the back of his hand. He paused just inside the kitchen door, though, to feel for the lantern Hop Sing always kept there. He turned the key carefully, keeping the flame low. Shadows danced along the walls. The fire was banked, but a few sticks of kindling had it crackling to life in no time. Now he just needed that tea…he went to the pantry and stared at the shelf holding a bewildering array of ceramic jars, all carefully labeled in Chinese. _Good Lord. Were those ALL tea?_ He selected one at random and lifted the lid. A pungent aroma assailed his nostrils. What was the difference between them? Well, never mind, surely this one would do as well as any other. He turned around and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Hop Sing!" he gasped, when he could feel his heart start beating again. "You scared a year's life out of me! How long have you been there?"

Hop Sing didn't answer, just studied him with that disconcerting gaze of his. "You no sleep?"

Ben made a face. "Not really. Thought some tea might help."

Hop Sing took the jar from his hand and looked, then shook his head. "Not this tea – you sit. I find good tea." He shooed Ben toward a chair and rummaged through his jars. "You dream more?"

Ben rubbed absently at the left side of his chest. "Yes. Not – like before. A memory, really. Very strange."

Hop Sing found a tea he liked and put it on the table, measuring water into the teakettle. "Memory of Missa Adam?"

"That's right. Funny. Hadn't thought it about that in years." He watched as Hop Sing precisely set out two cups and saucers. Hop Sing didn't say anything, and somehow Ben felt that as an urge to continue. He turned one cup lightly in its saucer. "When Adam was a little boy, he used to have a terrible habit of wandering off. I can't tell you how many times he gave me a fright with that. No matter how many times I lectured him, it seemed the minute my head was turned something would catch his eye that interested him and the next time I looked, he'd be gone." He contemplated the mark on the bottom of the cup. "Looking back, I suppose it was pretty boring for a child to be left standing around so much while I took care of things…especially such a curious child. But no matter how hard I tried…just the minute I turned my head, it seemed."

Hop Sing spooned tea into a small mesh bag. "Takes only second for child to slip away. No one can watch every second."

"No." Ben put the cup carefully back in the saucer. "No, I suppose not. Certainly used to scare me, though." He bent over and opened the stove door to poke up the fire. "Anyway. This one time – the time I dreamed about – Adam must have been four or so – not quite five, anyway, because it was before Inger…we had stopped in a little town somewhere in Indiana – to buy supplies and sleep in a bed for a change – maybe see if I could make a little money to buck up our finances…" He sat up as Hop Sing's kettle whistled, watched him pour a stream of steaming water into the pot. "I remember I was talking to the storekeeper about a man who was looking for a little help. Adam was asking me questions, I think, about something – you have to understand that, with Adam, asking questions was like breathing – if he was awake and with you, he was probably asking questions."

Hop Sing smiled faintly. "Missa Adam always have great hunger to know things."

Ben nodded. "Yes. He – yes." He stared at the fire glowing through the slats in the stove door. "I - wasn't paying a lot of attention at that moment. I was writing down the particulars about the man who might being willing to hire me…when I looked up – Adam was nowhere in sight." Hop Sing set the kettle on the table to steep and Ben's eyes followed him, but he wasn't really seeing him. He was remembering. "At first I wasn't worried – I thought maybe he'd gone outside to sit on the store boardwalk and watch the people. But then I didn't see him outside, either. I called his name – nothing. Here I was, a complete stranger to this town – I didn't know where to look or what to do or who to ask for help." He felt his chest tighten as it had all those years ago – as it had all over again in his dream just a little while ago. Hop Sing tipped the teakettle over his cup and a soothing fragrance drifted toward him. He took the cup and blew on it, tested a sip. It spread warmth throughout his chilled limbs. "Of course, people did help me, stranger or not," he continued at last. "People are generally kind, I've found, especially where children are concerned. We searched for hours – everywhere anyone could think of. I must have described Adam a thousand times. But – nothing. I was sure I'd lost him for good this time – was sure he was gone forever. Couldn't imagine what God had been thinking to trust someone as careless as myself with a child."

Hop Sing pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. "But you did find."

Ben nodded again. "Yes. Yes, we did at last. Somebody spotted a stray dog sniffing around an old well back behind the store – had been boarded up long ago - over grown with weeds. Sure enough the boards had rotted and Adam had fallen through. Luckily, there was enough water to cushion his fall, but not enough to drown him. A miracle, really. Took us a while to get him out – the well was too narrow for me, but one of the town boys let himself be lowered down and brought Adam back up. He was wet and scared and scraped up, but not badly hurt. I could tell he had been crying, but when they handed him to me he looked at me and said, 'Pa, I was waiting for you to find me! Where were you?' Almost as if he were scolding me. I suppose I should have scolded him instead, but I was so relieved and thankful, I think I actually apologized." He smiled a little at the memory, took a slow sip of his tea. "You know how they are at that age – think that you can do or fix anything – that if they're lost, you'll always find them, if they're hurt you'll always make it better. You, of course, are horribly aware of how fallible you really are." He put down his tea and sighed, suddenly sleepy. "A funny dream to have. A funny thing to remember. I was so sure he was gone, and all the time he was just waiting for me to find him." 

Hop Sing tilted his head at him. Ben's eyebrows jumped, suddenly startled at the sound of his own words. "Hop Sing – you don't think…?" Hop Sing waited. Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. "But – we – buried him." He looked at Hop Sing for confirmation, but Hop Sing was just watching him, waiting. "We – saw his clothes – his things…" he trailed off, the unsettled feeling he'd had earlier growing inside him, expanding to fill his chest cavity. He stared and stared, watching his dream play out again behind his eyes. "Hop Sing, I – thank you for the tea, I – have to – go think, or…" 

Hop Sing waved him away. "Go, go – I clean up. Go listen to your thoughts."

Ben nodded, standing slowly, the idea so new and yet, he realized now, the same one that had been lurking at the back of his brain all along – the one he had barely dared look at, barely dared fan to life. He took the stairs like a sleepwalker, turned to go down the hall to his room, then stopped. After a brief hesitation, he opened the first door he came to and stood there, looking some more. Closing the door carefully behind him, he went to the bed again and seated himself, picking up the music box and feeling its weight in his hand. After a second, he lifted the lid and let the little melody escape.

"So, love," he said quietly at last. "If he isn't with you, then where is he?"


	28. Chapter 28

Hoss rose early - even earlier than usual. Funny, he was exhausted, but he just couldn't seem to sleep. Something - something just weren't right. _Ain't nothin' right, you fool_, he reminded himself_. Adam's dead, remember?_ But that wasn't it. Or, not all of it, anyway. Somethin' ABOUT Adam's death weren't right. Pa felt it. Joe felt it. And he sure as hell felt it too. Weren't none of 'em gonna have any peace until they figgered out what in blazes it was. 

"Hoss?"

He was so deep in his own thoughts that the voice actually made him jump. He looked up, a little sheepish. "Charlie. Dave." He bobbed his head at them. "Somethin' I kin help ya with?"

Charlie nudged the dirt uncomfortably with his boot toe. "Sorry to disturb ya, Hoss, we just figgered…" he seemed to have trouble going on. Hoss scrunched up his nose curiously.

Dave cleared his throat and picked up the gauntlet. "Hoss - you remember how we fixed Adam's body for buryin'?"

"Oh." Hoss had forgotten. He patted at his pockets. "Guess I owe you fellows. Sorry, I fergot. How much apiece do you think…?"

Charlie took a step backward and Dave looked repelled. "We don't want nothin' fer that, Hoss," he said quietly. "Was a way to pay our respects. He was a good man to work fer."

Hoss's vision blurred unexpectedly. "Yeah," he agreed huskily when he could find his voice. "Yeah. He was."

"We just wanted to give you this. Found it on the body. It's kind of singed and melted and all, but we thought it might still have - you know - sentimental value - " He dropped a blackened piece of metal into Hoss's broad palm. 

Hoss stared at it. "What's this?"

"Ring. Found it on Adam's finger. Thought you'd want it."

Hoss squinted at the disfigured scrap in his palm. "On Adam's finger? Adam don't - didn't - wear no rings."

Charlie looked at Dave and shrugged. "That's where we found it."

Hoss poked at it with one blunt finger. "Well, ain't that…I wonder…" He licked his thumb and scrubbed it over the widest part of the band, then peered closely at it. "Looks like some kind of a insignia. Military, mebbe. Adam weren't a soldier." 

"Maybe it was a gift or a souvenir. Anyway, it's yours now."

Hoss slipped his forefinger into the ring so that it just rested on the tip. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks, fellas - thanks a lot." He was barely aware of Dave and Charlie making their apologies and moving away as he spun the ring on his fingertip, studying it closely. Didn't look like nothin' he had ever seen afore. 

"Whatcha got?"

For the second time that morning Hoss jumped, just grabbing the blistered ring before it could bounce from his fingertip onto the ground. "What is it with everybody sneakin' up on me this mornin'?"

"Sorry," but Joe actually smiled a little as he said it. "What were you lookin' at?"

Hoss lifted the small object between two fingers. "This here. Dave and Charlie were tellin' as how they took it off'n Adam. You reckernize it?"

Joe's brows pushed together and he took the ring from Hoss, studying it. "Never seen it before. Can't quite picture Adam wearing it anyway - he wasn't really much of one for jewelry." Hoss grunted in agreement. Joe picked with a fingernail at one of the melted spots. "He had it on in the fire, though - say - " He looked quickly at Hoss and took a step backward. "Now, don't blow your top at what I'm about to say, Hoss, but - Amelia had Adam's watch and suddenly Adam had this ring. You don't suppose they exchanged tokens or something - I said DON'T blow up at me! I'm just trying to think of every possibility!"

Hoss took a deep breath and pressed his lips against each other to stop his bellow of protest, his face an alarming red. "Okay," he managed after a minute. "Okay - I know you are, Joe. Not that I think that's likely and - didn't you say Miz Amelia told Sam that Adam had _forgot _his watch?"

"Yeah. But she could have just been sayin' that."

"Mebbe. But kin you really imagine Miz Amelia bein' discreet about it if'n Adam had actually gived her somethin' like that? Shoot, she'd be takin' out an advertisement in the _Territorial Enterprise_."

Joe grimaced. "Got a point." He sighed, rubbing at his chin. "So where did it come from? It's too big to be a woman's ring…could it have been from Amelia for some other reason? Any of her family military?"

"Naw. Don't think so."

"Just one more puzzle to unravel, then." Joe sighed moodily. 

"Pa up yet?"

"Naw. Hop Sing said he got up in the middle of the night so he was gonna let him sleep as long as he could. Breakfast should be ready soon, though."

Hoss nodded, looking uncharacteristically disinterested, taking the ring back and studying it once more. "That's fine. I'm thinkin' that after breakfast I got a couple of important errands to run in Virginia City. I got a lot o' questions fer somebody."

Joe slapped him lightly on the back. "Now, there's a funny coincidence - I was just thinkin' the same thing myself. Guess I'll ride along." 

*

"Now, to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit from you gentlemen so early in the day?"

"Howdy, Miz Polly." Hoss flushed a little, quickly averting his eyes from the low cut neckline displayed so winsomely before him. It wasn't really that early by his standards - not as early as he had hoped to be here certainly, but a few things had needed attention before they could leave the ranch. Must be early fer her, though, what with workin' nights an' all. "Er - we was lookin' fer Miz 'Melia?"

"Amelia Fairchild?" The petite redhead curled her lip in disgust, gesturing them further into the saloon and fetching three tin mugs from behind the bar. "She's been off for a couple of days - in again tomorrow, I think - or maybe tonight. Zeke'd know for sure, but he's not up yet." She grabbed a battered coffeepot from its place on the potbellied stove and filled the cups with the turgid liquid while Hoss tried to swallow his disappointment. "Surprised to see you boys here - considerin'."

Joe flushed and Hoss ducked his head. She gestured to a table and watched as they obediently pulled down three chairs.

"That's actual - that's kind why we're here, Miz Polly. We jest - we got a lotta questions about that last night Adam was here - seems Miz 'Melia was the last one to see him alive - she had his watch and it seems as though Adam had this - reckernize it?" He dropped the battered ring on the table in front of them and Polly picked it up and studied it, then shrugged.

"Sorry, boys - never seen it before. Looks old, though."

Joe blinked. "How can you tell? It's burned!"

Polly shrugged again. "Well, I can't for sure - but they change the design of those things every bunch of years, and that one's not the most up to date. I know cause I see a lot of military boys through here."

Joe dropped his head in his hands. "What would Adam be doing wearing somebody's old military ring? This just gets more and more confusing!"

Polly sniffed. "Not half so confusing as Adam Cartwright being with the likes of Amelia Fairchild! I would have thought him a much more discriminatin' type of fellow!"

Hoss snorted. "Ma'am, I feel the same."

"Figure it was that cryin' all over him she was doin' that got him up there - I know not everybody suspected it about him, but your brother was a mighty soft touch."

Hoss stared at her. "Yes'm," he agreed. "Yes'm, he was. Yer sayin' - Miz 'Melia was cryin' all over Adam?"

Polly rolled her eyes. "Land, yes! That girl would do anything to get her way - pitiful, I call it. Don't know what cock and bull sob story she told him to get him to her room, but you can bet your life it was a dilly. Otherwise, if he was in the mood, I'm sure he woulda been lookin' for somethin' a little higher quality." She preened self-consciously. 

"Yes'm," Hoss agreed automatically. "Um - you seen all that, then mebbe you saw Adam leave, too?"

Polly sipped daintily at her coffee, then shook her head. "No. No, I didn't. Must have left after I - er - went upstairs."

Hoss leaned forward. "And when was that, ma'am?"

Polly shrugged her creamy shoulders. "Sometime after midnight, I guess."

Hoss sagged. "Oh. No, ma'am - you musta missed him. Henry tells us he left about nine er so. Henry said as how he was in a real hurry, too."

Polly pulled herself up to her full, scant height. "Now, you listen to me, Hoss Cartwright - I did NOT miss him - I was keepin' an eye peeled, as a matter of fact, in case he needed to escape from that Fairchild hussy! And I am tellin' you that I did NOT see your brother leave! I'd bet my life on it!" She glared at him over her coffee as she took another sip. "I was workin' the faro table and dealin' for a bunch of drunken cowboys who couldn't've played even if they was sober and I had a real good view of the stairs the whole time. He did NOT come down them."

Joe looked up and blinked at Hoss perplexedly. Hoss rubbed distractedly at his nose. "Now, no offense, ma'am, but folks swear they saw a fella dressed jest like Adam - "

"Oh! DRESSED like Adam." Polly refreshed her coffee and judiciously added a little drop of something stronger. "Now, that's another story. Sure, there was somebody DRESSED like Adam who came down and went out. Might've been about that time."

Hoss looked doubtfully at the bottle in her hand and shook his head politely "no" as she tipped it over his coffee. "Well, ma'am, if he was dressed like him - I mean, it would be dark in here, and smoky and crowded - how can you be so sure it weren't him? Was he smaller, er - ?"

Polly chewed her lip, looking thoughtful. "No, reckon he was about the same size, give or take…but mercy, boys, your brother ain't the only man in the world to dress in black. I'm tellin' you it wasn't him."

Hoss seemed at a loss, so Joe jumped in. "Ma'am," he began gently. "Both some patrons and Henry thought - "

"Oh. Men." Polly sniffed again, waving a graceful, dismissive hand. "What do they notice? A man's clothes - his gun, maybe. Probably his horse. Outside of that, they all look the same to them." Hoss and Joe just stared at her. She sighed, evidently disappointed by their dimness. "Boys, let me tell you something. I have watched your brother walk in and out of this place more times than I can count. I have watched him sashay his way down the street on any number of occasions, and it has been my pleasure to see him strut his way around a barn dance or two. And I can tell you this for sure and for certain - I would know that walk anywhere, any time, as long as there was the smallest particle of light to see by and maybe even if there wasn't - I would know that walk in my sleep, even. And that walk did NOT make its way down those stairs that night - certainly not carryin' that fellow dressed in black across the floor. Now, if he'd been standin' still I can see where he might've been taken for Adam in a smoky room, though I'm not sure, even then…your brother does have this special way of leanin'…" she lingered pleasantly on the image for a moment. "…but THIS fellow slumped along, jouncing like a jack rabbit - not all slow and smooth and easy, like Adam."

Joe looked at Hoss. Hoss frowned. "But, ma'am - if'n he was in a hurry, mebbe…?"

Polly shook her head sorrowfully, then patted him consolingly on the arm. "Men," she scoffed again. "No, Hoss, I'm tellin' you and you can trust me on this - I kept an eye on those steps all evenin', just waitin' for the pleasure of watchin' that exit, and believe you me, it never came. I don't care what anybody else tells you - or ask some of the other girls if you don't believe me - bet they'd noticed. A man dressed somethin' like Adam Cartwright may have left here about nine, but Adam Cartwright surely did not."


	29. Chapter 29

Joe blinked at the sudden sunlight as they exited the dim saloon. "What do you think it means, Hoss?" he blurted. "This is just gettin' more confusin' - not clearer."

Hoss nodded absently. "Somebody dressed like Adam…" he mumbled, half to himself. "Joe, didn't you tell me that Henry said as how Adam was havin' trouble handlin' Sport?"

Joe shrugged. "Yeah, but Sport can be a handful." 

"Sure he can - that's why Adam don't like nobody else ridin' him. But Adam manages him jest fine."

"Yeah, but if he was in a hurry…" Joe peered closely at him. "Just what are you gettin' at, Hoss?"

Hoss scratched his nose. "Ain't sure. Jest thinkin'. Ain't addin' up, somehow. Miz Polly says Adam din't leave the saloon - ol' Henry says as how he did, but wasn't like himself…"

Joe wrinkled his forehead. "And Henry did say his clothes didn't fit right…are you thinkin' it was somebody besides Adam who left that night? Somebody - pretendin' to be Adam?"

Hoss shook his head. "Mebbe. Not all fired shur as to what I'm sayin' yet - except that there's a whole lotta unanswered questions here."

Joe nodded slowly. "So - Adam coulda already been dead. They coulda killed him and taken his clothes…but WHY Hoss? It don't make any sense."

"Nope," Hoss let his breath out slowly. "Nope, it really don't. But by the time I'm through, Joe, it's gonna. Lookee, you think you can take care o' the headstone while I go off to ask some questions?" Joe just stared at him and he flushed pinkly. "Sorry, Joe," he continued gruffly. "Shouldn't ask you ta do it alone."

Joe took a deep breath. "No," he said slowly. Then, with more conviction, "No. You go. We gotta get to the bottom of this while it's still fresh in folks' minds. You go ask questions and I'll - I'll talk to Sylvester."

Hoss looked uncomfortable. "You shur?"

Joe set his teeth hard and smiled. "I'm sure. Besides," he smiled weakly. "I told Pa I already did - guess it's the least I could do."

Hoss gave him an affectionate swat on the shoulder. "Thanks, Joe. I'll meet you at Sylvester's in an hour."

Joe nodded, watching him walk away. "Hey, Hoss!" he called suddenly. Deep in his thoughts, Hoss didn't even turn around. Joe grimaced. "What do I put on the tombstone?" he asked nobody in particular. 

*

Hoss took a deep breath and pushed his way through the sturdy plank door, into the cool interior. "Roy," he bobbed his head. "You got a minute?"

Roy looked up from a stack of papers he was meticulously filling out and pulled off his glasses, peering curiously. "Hoss," he returned cautiously. "Sure I do, take a seat, son. Help yourself to some coffee."

Hoss shook his head, hooking a chair underneath him and sitting down. "No thanks, Roy - had some. I need to ask you a couple o' questions, if'n I can."

Roy's face was unreadable. "'Course, Hoss. That's why I'm here." He shuffled his papers together and set them aside. "I'm a little surprised to see you in town today, though. How's your Pa?"

Hoss frowned down at his hands. "'Bout like you'd expect. Restin' when I left."

Roy nodded. "Thought you'd wanna be with him," he suggested gently.

Hoss flushed, but set his jaw. "Had some other things what needed takin' care of. Been askin' a lotta questions around town, Roy - lotta things jest don't add up."

Roy looked patient. "What kind of things would those be?"

"Things about Adam. How he died." He fished the ring out of his vest pocket and dropped it on the desk between them. "Charlie and Dave tell me they pulled that off'n Adam's…when they was fixin' ta…y'know…" he finished helplessly.

Roy poked at it, raised his brows.

"Roy, I ain't never seen that ring on Adam in his life. Comes to it, I ain't never seen ANY ring on 'em."

"I'll admit it's a little peculiar, Hoss, but that's about all. Could be a hundred reasons Adam might'a had that ring on when he died."

Hoss sighed through his nose. "Mebbe. But that ain't all. Kin you tell me 'bout what time you locked up David Fairchild?"

Roy sat back. "Hoss, I hate to say it but, any more accusations of the Fairchilds without a little proof IS gonna look like harassment."

"I'm jest askin' a question, Roy. You said that was okay."

Roy folded and unfolded his glasses. "All right…" he agreed at last. "Reckon it was just after nine thirty er so. Remember 'cause I was just finishin' my rounds when the clock struck nine and I had been goin' through wanted posters for a while."

Hoss squinted. "So he was locked up when the fire started, but he weren't locked up when Adam left the Bucket O' Blood. Or seemed to."

Roy tilted his head at him. "Now, what's that about?"

"Miz Polly swears as how it weren't Adam who left the Bucket O' Blood at all - says as how she never seen him go. And nobody seems to have seen his face and Henry at the livery says Adam's clothes didn't fit right and he was havin' trouble with Sport."

"Well, it's dark in the saloon, Hoss, and a lot is going on. And if Adam just came from - " Roy cleared his throat delicately. "Ahem...he might have his clothes rearranged some. And anybody could have trouble with that ornery horse o' his."

"Anybody else. Not Adam."

"Hoss, Adam and that ornery critter seemed ta have an agreement about fightin' each other - like they both thought it was fun. I'm sorry - you have some inerestin' ideas, but you ain't got nothin' solid. Ain't got no proof."

"Not even enough fer a suspicion? Roy, what if Adam weren't even alive when he got ta that barn? What if he was killed right here in town and left in the barn and the fire set to make it look like a accident?"

"Hoss, that's crazy talk!"

"Is it?" Hoss leaned on the desk. "Then how is it that Sport, a nervous sorta horse, like you say, got free o' that barn but Adam didn't? How is it that Sport ran AWAY from the flames? You ever see a horse do that in all yer born days?"

"No," Roy admitted. "But maybe Adam got Sport out and collapsed before he could escape himself. That smoke kin really creep up on a man. Maybe he was so concerned about the animals he didn't notice he was gettin' lightheaded til it was too late."

Hoss bit his lip. _That was a pretty good theory. Still_…"Roy," he said at last. "I knew my brother. Knew him my whole life. And I'm tellin' you that all this adds up to somethin' that ain't what it seems. Maybe that don't seem like evidence to you, but it is. I knew him. Somethin' here ain't right, Roy."

Roy sighed deeply, closed his glasses and set them aside. "I know you did, Hoss," he said quietly. "Shoot, I remember back to when you was both kids - remember you followin' him everywhere, 'member how you used ta look at him just like the sun rose and set right where he stood. I know what your brother was to you, Hoss. I understand. And that's one reason I don't think you gotta case here. I think you - I think you just gotta leave it alone, son. Go home to your Pa. He needs you now." Hoss stared at him. "Son, your brother is gone, and I'm sorry about that - ain't never been sorrier 'bout anythin' in my life. But fussin' with it won't change that. Won't keep him here a minute longer. Go home, son. It's where you belong."

Hoss opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. He carefully retrieved the deformed ring and returned it to his pocket, then lumbered to his feet and turned to go. Halfway to the door he stopped, dropped his head. "Y'know, Roy," he said thoughtfully, "I know I ain't mebbe the brightest or the best spoke man in these parts. I know that. But there are some things I know real well. I unnerstand the natural order o' things pretty good - how they work, when they're outta kilter, what it takes ta get 'em back in line. I notice things." He turned to meet Roy's eyes squarely. "Adam knew that about me. You remember right how it was with us - we spent a lot o' time tagether growin' up - knew each other real well. I don't mean jest what everybody else saw - I mean way deep down - inside. It was sorta a secret we shared - who we really was. Mebbe you don't count that evidence - a man acting like he wouldn't act - but it is. It shows things are outta kilter somehow. It's mebbe the truest evidence there is.

Why, you remember that time the Town Council wanted ta put you out ta pasture and replace you with some younger, slicker fella? Adam stood up fer ya - told 'em as how you could still do the job - even agreed ta sign on as yer deputy so's he could prove it. He didn't have any proof ya could still do the job, mebbe - mebbe even had a lotta proof ya couldn't. But he knew ya - knew who ya was deep down inside, and that was good enough proof fer him. So he stuck by ya. 

And ya know what? He was right, weren't he? You came through and the whole Council had to admit what Adam saw all along - that ya knew what ya was doin'. Not because o' a little evidence - that's what led the Council astray. Fer him you was the evidence. And he weren't wrong." 

Roy gazed at Hoss, frowning faintly, then massaged his eyelids with his fingertips. 

"Now, I'm gonna be lookin' inta exactly what happened that night, Roy," Hoss continued calmly. "I'm gonna do whatever I have to do and take as long as I have to take, but I ain't quittin' till I'm satisfied that what I know is the truth and the whole truth. Reckon ya kin help me er not, but one way or another, I'm askin' ya ta stay outta my way." 

Roy sighed silently, drumming lightly on the leather desktop. He looked at his fingertips and sighed again. "What is it you want me to do?" he asked at last.

Hoss grinned, returned to his chair and settled back into it. "Thought you'd never ask."

Roy snorted. "I'll bet you did. Not bright or well spoken, he says. Then Lord protect me if you were."


	30. Chapter 30

Joe paced nervously in front of Sylvester's shop, then finally sank down onto the bench in front of it. He was good at a lot of things, but waiting definitely wasn't one of them. What the heck was keeping Hoss?

His visit with Sylvester had gone well - better than he'd dared hope. Sylvester had been kind and helpful and matter-of-fact about it and somehow that had put him at his ease. He had suggested a few possible models, talked about their various merits, and complimented Joe on his final choice. He had even offered some choices of verse, but Joe hadn't found one there to satisfy him. None of them said what he wanted to say - none of them sounded like Adam.

On sudden inspiration, he had excused himself and gone down the street aways to make a call - he knew just who would know the words he was looking for and he wasn't disappointed. By the time he returned carrying a bit of verse on a scrap of paper he was almost smiling. 

Sylvester had looked it over, nodding to himself. "That there's real fine, Joe," he agreed. "But I'm not sure I kin do it here - might need to send to Sacramento. Know a real fine stonecutter there. Do a fine job fer ya."

Joe started to ask how long it would take, then stopped himself. It's not like there was any rush. Better that they had words that would mean something to them all for…well, forever. "Yeah, okay," he said finally. "Sacramento's fine. Tell'em to do it up real nice, okay?" 

Sylvester rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. "Sure will, Joe." 

The kindness in his tone had almost been Joe's undoing and he smiled a tight smile and ducked out the door as quickly as was polite. Outside in the sunlight things seemed a little better, but as time went by and Hoss didn't show up his composure began to crumble. Even in broad daylight it was a little creepy out here, surrounded by the various headstone models, propped about and ready to be inscribed. It was creepy to see the neat stack of lumber, waiting to be turned into boxes, to get a glimpse of the pretty fringed hearse and, just behind it, the icehouse where Sylvester kept…well. It was just plain creepy. 

He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed at his face. _Come on, Hoss!_ To distract himself, he began to go over the details of what they had found out in his head. They didn't really know when, if ever, Adam had left the saloon. They didn't know why he would be wearing a strange ring. They didn't know if that was really him at the livery or somebody dressed to look like him. When you came right down to it, they didn't actually know jack. He kicked restlessly at the dirt. 

Damn, it made him mad. It had made him mad when he thought somebody had accidentally killed Adam by setting the fire - furious. But that was nothing to what he felt at the thought that somebody might have deliberately killed him. Deliberately lured Adam upstairs and killed him in cold blood, then carted him back to the Ponderosa and dumped him in the barn and started the fire and let them find his body. Not even his body left in peace - left charred and disfigured instead. He felt the heat thunder at his temples and stood up and started to pace again. With all Adam's possessions intact - just to make sure they knew. Just to make sure there would be no doubt. A sick, queasy flame burned at the bottom of his belly. Arrogant is what it was. And heartless. Took somebody cold as ice to lay a trap like that and then - and _why? Why would anybody go to so much trouble…?_ He took off his hat and swiped a sleeve across his forehead. 

__

I'll get whoever this was, Adam, he swore inwardly_. I'll find them and I'll beat the living daylights out of them and then I'll burn them, too - just like what they did to you. And when they beg for mercy, I'll laugh. Right in their face. Laugh._

He twisted his hat in his hands, frowning. Adam, he thought ruefully, would not be impressed. He looked at the mangled hat and punched it irritably back into shape. _Yeah, well, if you wanted a say in this thing, Adam, then I guess you shoulda stuck around - but you left me. All bets are off now - now we do this my way. _He shoved the hat back onto his head, blinking hard. 

He needed a drink. To heck with Hoss - if he was gonna take this long then he could just darn well come lookin' for him. He'd get a drink and maybe see if anybody else knew anything and he'd stop thinking about - about whether or not Adam knew he was gonna die ahead of time…about whether or not they'd taunted him, or hurt him first…about what he was thinkin' about when it happened and what he was feelin' and…he was almost running now, half-blind, feeling the hot moisture pushing at his eyelids again; almost decided that the saloon wasn't such a good idea after all, when he suddenly pulled up short - just missed colliding with a figure that loomed suddenly in front of him at the hitching rail. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words shriveled on his tongue when he saw who it was. A thick red mist seemed to muffle his vision. 

"YOU!" he choked out. And then he threw himself bodily at the figure.

*

Ben sat up in bed with a start. Sun was streaming through the bedroom window and he didn't have to check the clock to know that it was late morning. He rubbed at his temples and groaned. So late. Why hadn't he woken? Why hadn't someone woken him? He remembered in a rush the occurrences the day before and lay back, suddenly breathless. _Adam._ Oh, dear God.

He closed his eyes tight, remembering the details of his dream, his late night conversation with Hop Sing, vague impressions of the images that had followed his return to sleep. Nothing distinct - just a sense of urgency - of fear - as if Adam was slipping even further away from him - but how was that possible, if he was already dead? 

He saw something on his night table and instinctively curled his hand around it. Must have carried this in from Adam's room. He thumbed up the lid and half-listened to the sweet, cheerful melody. 

What if - what if he dared believe it - just for a minute? What if he decided to act as if there was a possibility that Adam wasn't dead at all - was still alive somewhere, waiting for his father to find him? It was insane, of course - they had found Adam's body and buried it - it was just desperate graspings of a sorrow-sick, despondent man…but still. What if - just for a minute, he assumed…? Acted as if…?

He shut the music box lid abruptly, silencing the little tune. Insane. He ran his fingers unseeingly over the bas relief figures on the small lid. He would look insane. Did he care? Adam had never cared how he looked to other people. He did what he thought was right, no matter how crazy, how improbable, it looked to everyone else. Sometimes he was right, sometimes he was wrong - but he never let anyone else tell him what to believe. He never gave up on anything until he was sure he had all the facts. And Adam had never had anything quite this important to fight for. 

He pulled himself slowly into sitting position, frowning ahead of him at nothing. If there was even the smallest chance, no matter how insane, no matter how ridiculous the evidence…

Supposing he had real evidence - facts he could point to - what would he do then? He pushed back the covers, suddenly resolute, and stood. What was he lying around here for? He had to get to town - he had to see Roy.


	31. Chapter 31

"Joe! Joe! Damn it, Joe!" The voice seemed about a million miles away - it sounded a little like Hoss sounded when he was trying to shake him out of a sound sleep…"Joe, I said stop!" And suddenly he was dangling over the earth in some strange fashion, suspended in space. He was having none of it, though - had set out to do something and, by God, he was gonna do it!

"Let go 'o me, Hoss," he raged, squirming to loosen the grip Hoss had on his shirt, kicking at air. "He's gonna pay for what he did! You stopped me once, but you ain't stoppin' me this time! He's gonna pay!"

"Now, Joe, you jest simmer on down!" Hoss gave him a little shake, keeping him carefully at an arm's length to avoid Joe's flailing fists and feet. 

"He's crazy, that's what he is!" broke in a familiar voice and it set Joe off again. He yanked ferociously against Hoss's clutch and almost broke free.

"Let me go, Hoss," he bellowed. "Damn it, let me go!"

"Now, your brother's right - you just settle down there, Joe, or I'm gonna havta lock you up until you cool off and I figger your Pa's had his heart broke just about enough for one week, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me!"

The mention of his father cooled Joe's ardor somewhat and he sagged in Hoss's hands. He cleared his vision enough to make out Roy standing behind his adversary, keeping him in check. "You don't understand, Roy," he sobbed. "You don't get it. He didn't just kill Adam by setting the fire - it's worse than that - he just out and out killed him somehow and then left the body there. It's out and out murder. He had his sister lure Adam up to her room - played on his sympathies - then he - he - " His voice broke.

He saw Roy take a deep breath. "Joe, these are just accusations, son, not facts. I need facts to accuse anybody of anythin'. Now what do you say we all go over to my office and stop makin' a scene in the street here and then we'll talk about - "

"I ain't goin' nowhere! I ain't done nothin'! All I done is try to get on my horse and head for home - "

Joe threw himself against Hoss's hold. "You're a liar! You killed my brother and if it's the last thing I ever do, I'm gonna see that you pay - "

"You hear that sheriff? He's threatenin' me! I ain't done nothin' ta him and still he's - "

"Ain't done nothin'!" Hoss gave him another shake, bidding him to hush, but nothing could stop Joe now. "My brother's dead! And I don't know how you did it, or why even, but I know it was you - you and that spooky sister of yours - and you're gonna hang for it, Fairchild! You're gonna swing - that is, if you get real lucky! 'Cause if I get my hands on you first, you're gonna wish you'd had the chance to die nice and peaceful with a rope around your neck!"

"Joe Cartwright!" Roy's voice was stern. "You stop this kinda talk right now! Now, I want all three of you in my office this minute or I'm havin' you all thrown in jail fer disturbin' the peace!"

Joe watched with satisfaction as Fairchild struggled against Roy. 

"Yeah, that's just the way it is in this town, isn't it sheriff?" Fairchild taunted. "Innocent man can't even get on his horse to go home if a Cartwright don't like it! Cartwright attacks him and he's the one what gets throwed in jail! Cartwright makes an accusation and everybody takes it serious - no matter how far fetched it is! Cartwright says jump and everybody asks how high, don't matter how unreasonable they're being er how crazy they are! They don't gotta prove nothin' and they don't gotta make a lick o' sense - they just gotta call out and what they say is done! You'll have me with a rope around my neck without them havin' ta prove anything - swing me fer a murder I didn't even commit - don't need no facts - don't need no proof - hell, don't even matter that his brother ain't even dead!"

Joe abruptly stopped struggling. Roy stilled, tilting his head as if testing his hearing. Hoss dropped Joe unceremoniously back onto his feet and he had to scrabble for a minute to gain his footing. The words hung in the air, almost visibly. 

Then Hoss gently moved Joe aside and took a step forward, closer to Fairchild and Roy. Fairchild was a tall man, but he seemed to shrink in Hoss's looming shadow. Hoss stood close, but didn't touch him. 

"What did you say?" Hoss's voice was very soft, but it made Joe shiver. There was a note in it he had never heard there before and never needed to hear there again. He dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, suddenly nervous.

Fairchild seemed to echo Joe's sentiments because he just stared, open-mouthed. "Um…" he managed after a minute.

"I ast ya," Hoss repeated with patient menace, "what that was you jest said. About my brother," he clarified.

Fairchild swallowed, looking uncertain and suddenly worried. "I - uh - "

Hoss reached up with one massive paw and delicately adjusted Fairchild's collar. "Mister, I ast ya real nice. Now you tell me and it better be the truth and it better be now or what Joe started ain't gonna be nothin' compared ta what I finish."

Fairchild seemed to find his nerve and shook off Roy and straightened himself. "I just said the truth," he answered fiercely. "Don't know whats got inta you folks - it's jest common sense. Course he's still alive, or there couldn't be no ransom, now, could there?"

Hoss squinted at him. Behind him, Joe wiped nervously at his mouth, suddenly dizzy. 

Hoss dropped his hands. "I don't know what yer talkin' 'bout. Ain't nobody ast fer no ransom. Far as we know we buried my brother yesterday. Now you be right careful about yer next answer, cause if ya lie to me about this then I promise ya, dead is about the nicest thing that's gonna happen to ya." 

Fairchild looked honestly perplexed. "I heard somethin' 'bout a funeral but I didn't - I mean - hell, mister - yer brother's alive. Cain't get no money fer a dead man."

Hoss stared at him, then hooked one hand in the back of Fairchild's collar and pulled. "I think Roy is right," he agreed, walking and dragging Fairchild in his wake. "I think we all gotta have a little talk in his office."


	32. Chapter 32

Roy held up a hand for what seemed like the hundreth time. "Hoss, Joe - I know how you feel, but I'm the official lawman here and so I'm the one askin' the questions. Just simmer down."

"Then tell him to start makin' some sense, Roy!" Joe threw himself into a chair and glared. 

Fairchild returned his glare. "An' you tell him ta get off my back! I was just mindin' my own bizness when he attacked me!"

"I said that's enough! From both of ya!" Roy slammed his hand into his desktop for emphasis. "This ain't gettin' us nowhere! Now, I want everybody ta be quiet and speak only if I ask ya a question! An' anybody that can't gets thrown in jail for interferin' with a representative of the law in the commission of his duty!" He let his eyes travel from one to the other. No one said anything and he nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now. Mr. Fairchild. You're sayin' that you admit to the kidnappin' of Adam Cartwright for the purposes of obtainin' ransom?"

Fairchild grimaced. "I ain't confessin' to nothin'."

Roy took a deep breath. "Mister, you told us Adam Cartwright, who we all saw buried just yesterday, ain't dead and weren't ever dead - that you kidnapped him for ransom. I heard it. These here boys heard it. Unless you wanna be considered for a more serious charge like murder, then I suggest you come clean with me right now."

Fairchild toed the floor. "I didn't - I really didn't do nothin'. It was David."

Joe threw up his arms. "And there he goes again!"

Roy sat up straight. "Joseph Cartwright, this is my last warning!" Joe fell silent and Roy closed his eyes briefly. "All right, then. You say it was - er - David?"

Fairchild nodded sullenly. "He's gonna 'bout kill me for spillin' the beans, too. Can't believe I…anyway, it was all his idea. I just sorta went along. I didn't even see the guy before yesterday."

"Yesterday!" Hoss scowled. 

Roy shot him a warning glance. "I see." He twirled the arms of his eyeglasses in his fingers. "Now, son - I don't want to be a simpleton here er nothin' but - I gotta tell you - if anybody had asked me, I woulda said YOU was David Fairchild. How exactly do ya explain that?"

Fairchild looked puzzled, then he grinned. "Oh. Yeah. We look a lot alike, huh? That's on accounta we're twins. David's my brother."

Hoss's eyebrows scrunched together. Joe let out a sound, but quickly bit it back. Roy ignored them and smiled patiently instead. "Your brother, huh?" He scratched at his chin. "You know, it's a funny thing, but I knowed Amos Fairchild and his young'uns ever since I moved to this territory and I ain't never heard tell of David havin' a brother. Just Amos and David and Amelia. You think you kin explain that ta me?"

"Sure. My Ma took me an' lit out when we was just little. Couldn't take it no more with my Pa, I guess. Guess I got a idea why now that I…" he shrugged. "Just found out about it myself a couple months back - always thought I was a only child and that my Pa was dead. I mean he is, but I thought he died when I was little. Then my Ma got sick and told me before she died. So I came lookin' for my brother and sister and all."

"Deathbed confession, huh?" Roy rubbed at his eyes and sighed. "Son, you do know that this sounds like one of them farfetched dime novels, don't ya?"

Fairchild tilted his head. "Ain't never read one," he admitted cheerfully.

Roy tossed his glasses across the desk. "All right. Now tell me why it is that your Ma took you with her and left the other two behind?"

Fairchild shrugged again. "She said as how it was just a accident - a neighbor lady was watchin' the baby and David while she took me to the next town ta see the doctor - once she was there, she realized she could get away - she just never went back. Said she felt real bad about leavin' the other two, though."

"Mm hm." Roy pushed back in his chair. "You do know this is about the craziest story I ever heard, right? You got anybody who can corroborate it?" Fairchild frowned. "Verify, son. Confirm that this tale o' yers is true."

"Oh." Fairchild seemed to think hard. "Well, my Ma and Pa are dead - there's David and 'Melia, I guess." 

Roy dropped his head into his hands for a minute. When he looked up he called, "Clem!"

Clem poked his head in from the outside door. "Yeah, Roy?"

Roy jerked his head toward Fairchild. "Keep an eye on this one for a minute, will ya? I need to have a word with the Cartwright boys." He fixed his eyes on Fairchild. "And you - do yourself a favor and don't give him any trouble. Believe me, you got enough problems already." 

He gestured Hoss and Joe over to the jail cells and pulled the door separating them from the office closed behind them. He looked at them, then shook his head again. "What all do you boys make of it? I can't decide if he's crazy as a bedbug, dumb as a post, or the cleverest fella I ever met."

"I don't care," said Joe bluntly. "I just want him to pay for what he did."

"Well, that's fine, Joe," Roy drawled. "But we gotta figure out exactly what that is first. Hoss? What do you think?"

Hoss shook himself. "Durned if I know. Could be he's tellin' the truth, I reckon. Crazy story fer anybody ta invent."

"Could be." Roy frowned. "Tell ya, though - friend of mine, sheriff out in Texas, had this prisoner once - honest to God thought he was two people. Said it was the spookiest thing he ever saw. This one part of the guy would do things and the other part wouldn't even know what he done. Could be we got somethin' like that here - fella seems sincere enough."

Hoss blew out his breath. "Tell you this - if there's even the smallest chance Adam's alive, I wanna look inta it."

Roy nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go hear him out." 

They filed back into the main office, where Clem was staring Fairchild into submission. Roy perched on his desk this time while Hoss hovered behind Fairchild and Joe leaned against the wall, glowering. 

"Mr. Fairchild," Roy began. "You say you asked for ransom. Wanna tell me how much?"

Fairchild glanced around at them. "Ten thousand dollars," he answered sulkily.

Roy nodded. "And did you write a note to Mr. Cartwright…?"

"I told ya - David did all that." He stuck his lip out. "Was gonna build up the ranch - breed horses."

Roy scratched his head. "Son," he offered cautiously. "You - didn't it occur to you that after you - er - returned Adam Cartwright to his family, that he might identify you to me? That it might be kinda tough to just settle down and raise horses, right here…?"

Fairchild tilted his head. "How come? I mean, long as he got home all right, why'd he even care? David says the Cartwrights got plenty of money - wouldn't even miss it."

Joe made a noise in his throat and Hoss stared.

Roy ground his teeth. "Still…uh…it's possible that Ben Cartwright wouldn't want to start a trend o' havin' his boys kidnapped every time somebody needed a few dollars?"

Fairchild looked serious. "Guess I hadn't thought that part through."

"No," Roy gave him an avuncular smile. "Tell you what, though. You say Adam Cartwright is alive - maybe you could take me to him, then?"

Fairchild's face went abruptly white. "Uh-uh. You don't have no idea what David would do to me. You should see how he treats 'Melia. Heck, you should see what he done to - " he broke off uneasily, his eyes skittering from Hoss to Joe. "It'd be worth my life," he muttered at last.

Joe was standing up straight now. Hoss hardened his jaw and looked pleadingly at Roy. Roy smiled calmly at Fairchild. "Well, here's the thing - reckon the territory ain't gonna treat you much better, see - and right now the charge is murder and right now, far as we know, you're the only one guilty. Now, if you could prove to us that Adam Cartwright is alive, on the other hand…" 

Fairchild shifted. He glanced at Hoss, then at Joe. "Ain't no ten thousand dollars?" he asked plaintively at last.

Hoss folded his arms over his chest. "Ain't never been no request fer a ransom. Could be a reward o' some kind, though, if'n we got our brother back safe and sound."

Roy picked up the cue. "And it's possible that if you're as little involved as you say and you cooperate the court might see its way to be lenient with ya." Roy smiled his kindest smile."

"Huh." Fairchild studied his boots for a minute. "Tell the truth, I didn't much like the way - what would I have to do?"

"Just take us ta Adam and then say your piece in court. I'd take care of the rest."

"Huh." He shifted and looked toward the window. "You'd protect me?"

Roy's eyebrows went up and he shrugged. "If you need it, sure."

Fairchild shrugged again. "Okay. I'll go to the ranch and set things up fer ya."

"Son, with all due respect, I ain't lettin' you outta my sight."

Fairchild stiffened. "No. I ride inta the ranch alone. David's there. I gotta. It'd be worth my life!"

"Now, son - "

"No!" Fairchild was adamant. "You don't know what he's like. Heck, he'd kill Cartwright first glimpse he got of us, then me. You gotta let me get in and set you up. Get Amelia ta take cover. Or there's no deal."

Roy bit his tongue. Obviously, now that they knew where they were headed they didn't really need much cooperation, but Fairchild had a point - if Adam was alive, they didn't want to risk him.

"And how do I know you won't warn yer brother and finish off Adam yerself?"

Fairchild shrugged. "Guess you'd have ta trust me. You kin follow close as you like - just stay outta sight. Truth ta tell, ain't got the stomach for this kinda thing anyway."

Roy stood up and paced a small circle. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, then. We'll do it your way. But we'll be right behind you, so watch what you're doin'. And you two boys - I don't want you gettin' yer hopes up. Pro'bly a wild goose chase. I'll send word out to your Pa so he'll know what we're up to."

"No!" Hoss stood up straight. "No, Roy. Not yet."

Roy's eyebrows went up. "Hoss, I cain't even imagine what your Pa would have to say to me if I kept him in the dark about somethin' like this."

Hoss nodded uneasily. "I know Roy, but - you seen how he's been. I jest don't think he kin take another disappointment. Like you say, this could be a wild goose chase - let's wait till we know somethin' fer shur."

"Hoss's right," Joe piped in. "I'd hate to see him get his hopes up for nothin' if then - "

Roy looked dubious. "Well, you boys get to say, o' course - personally, I think your Pa is a whole lot tougher than you give him credit fer. Clem, you watch things here while we check this out? Mr. Fairchild? Why don't you come with me and we'll discuss the ground rules." 

He gestured Fairchild in front of him, and Hoss moved around to open the door. No one went through it, though, and Hoss saw Joe's face change to - fear? Consternation? Hoss turned to look for himself. 

Framed in the doorway, with his hand lifted toward the latch, was a tall, silver haired man. He raised his brows at them. "Well," he said in a deep, sonorous voice. "How nice to find you all together. Does someone want to tell me what's going on?"

Hoss swallowed. "Pa," he managed faintly.

"Pa," Joe echoed with a squeak.


	33. Chapter 33

Ben's eyes rested on Fairchild, his expression suddenly unreadable. "David. How - interesting - to find you here."

Fairchild met his gaze blankly, then dropped his eyes and studied the planks at his feet. "'M not David," he muttered.

Roy summoned a smile. "That's right, Ben - this here's - er - David Fairchild's brother - what did you say your name was agin, son?"

"Duncan," Fairchild looked up at that, peering more intently at Ben. "You Ben Cartwright?"

Ben's brows snapped together. "You know I am! You worked for me for - " he broke off at the sight of Roy shaking his head vigorously behind Duncan's back. He met Roy's eyes for a moment, then cleared his throat carefully. "I - didn't realize David and Amelia had a brother." His tone was politely skeptical. 

"Seems nobody did, Ben," Roy continued forcefully. "Well, 'cept maybe their Ma and Pa, o' course. Now, Da - er - Duncan - here is helpin' me out with somethin', so I'm gonna take him over here and have a word with him while yer boys have a word or two with you. Right, boys?"

Hoss and Joe looked helplessly at Roy and then at each other. 

Ben watched their expressions, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, I would like that. Seeing as I was pretty sure my boys were out on the range today, not in town. What are you doing here, boys? Anything special? Anything wrong?"

Hoss tried to smile, failed. "Uh - Pa, Joe an me was jest - well, we was…" He looked to Joe for help.

Joe shifted his shoulders. "Well, we were - I was just lookin' for Hoss, Pa…" Hoss glared at him and he made a face. "I mean…um…I got into a fight with Da - with Fairchild, Pa. That's why we're here."

"I see." Ben appraised their faces keenly. "Well, that would certainly explain what you were doing with Roy, but not what you were doing in town. Care to enlighten me?"

Hoss fingered the ring in his vest pocket. "Pa - we was…" he sighed. "Pa, we had some questions about Adam's death. We didn't want to bother you none with it, but - well - we jest wanted ta check it out."

"Oh." Ben's voice softened. "I've been - I've been thinking a lot about that, too."

Joe looked relieved to have it out in the open. "We were just gonna take a ride over to the Fairchild place with Roy. Check a few things out."

"Hm." Ben folded his arms over his chest. "So Roy is finally going to check out Fairchild. Is there some new evidence?" He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "And what is this about this man being David Fairchild's brother? I would swear that's David Fairchild!"

Hoss grimaced. "I know, Pa, but - well - when you talk to him fer a bit, he don't sound too much like David. Don't know if his story is true or if he's jest off his rocker, but I figger we gotta check it out." 

Ben looked over his shoulder again, realized he was staring and quickly turned back. "Well, it's uncanny. What _is_ his story anyway?"

Joe looked at Hoss. Hoss looked at Joe. Hoss stuffed his hands in his pockets. "It's - it's pretty far fetched, Pa. We'll letcha know if it pans out."

Ben's face changed subtly. "Well, that's decent of you. Is there something about my son's death you don't think I have a right to know about?"

Hoss ducked his head and peeped at Joe. Joe made a face. "Pa - um - now, this is probably crazy, you understand - probably just tryin' ta throw us off the track…" Ben waited, unmoving. Joe steeled himself. "Dav - er - this - fella. Is tryin' to tell us…tell us that Adam's…" he stuttered to a stop, looked desperately to Hoss for support. 

"Still alive, Pa," Hoss finished in a rush. "He's sayin'…"

Ben's eyes widened and for a moment he seemed to rock on his feet. Hoss reached out hastily to make a grab for him. "Gosh durn it, Pa! This is why we din't wanna say nothin' till we knew fer shur! You okay?"

Ben shook him off, his jaw hardening to granite. "You - you were going to keep this from me?"

Joe blinked at his tone. "Just - just till we knew for sure, Pa - we didn't want to…" he trailed off at the sight of Ben's face. 

Ben turned away from both of them, staring down the street, his breath catching unevenly. _Pa,_ _I was waiting for you to find me!_ _Where were you? _"That's all I've been thinking about…" he choked, "…hearing him everywhere, trying to accept - how long have you known?"

"Jest a little bit now, Pa - heck we don't really know nothin' yet - this guy don't seem all that reliable. We jest…we jest figgered…I don't know, Pa - I've been havin' some trouble feelin' like he's really gone, too…even after burian' him, an' I always figgered - somehow, I always figgered I'd know when it was real. An…an I don't."

Ben pinched his fingers into his eyes. "I thought I was losing my mind. I thought - all these days we could have been looking…why on earth didn't you tell me you felt that way too? Why did you let me go on thinking I was crazy? We could have been…you should never keep anything like this from me! For God's sake - he's my son!"

Joe swallowed and looked at Hoss. Something about Hoss's expression pounded at his heart and he groped for the right words. "Pa," he broke in hesitantly. "Pa, we had a body and all Adam's things. That's what we knew - all we _really_ knew. It's all we really know now."

Hoss shot Joe a grateful glance and seemed to get his breath back. "Joe's right, Pa. I knew what I felt - but I figgered it was - jest cause that's what I wanted. I didn't figger fer a minute it was really true. Still don't, ta be honest."

Ben continued to stare at the street, though it was a blurred haze in front of him. _Pa, I was waiting…_he swallowed painfully, turned to regard his younger two sons, his eyes traveling from one face to the next, strained and apologetic. He touched Hoss's arm lightly. "I know, son," he breathed after a minute. "I understand. I just…" He sucked in a breath. "I think we should have been talking to each other. Why weren't we talking to each other?"

Hoss shrugged, mustering a faint smile. "Hurt too much, I guess. Pa, we don't know if this is true - you unnerstand that, right? Prob'ly it's not."

Ben turned away again. _Pa, I was waiting for you to find me…where were you?_ He shook his head a little, trying to clear it. "I don't know what I know anymore, Hoss."

Roy cleared his throat delicately from somewhere behind him. He had been tactfully holding off, letting them work things out among themselves. "Mr. Fairchild an' me have settled how we're handlin' things - you folks about ready to ride?"

Ben nodded mutely, his eyes drawn back to Fairchild's, who was staring at him as though he were some sort of circus attraction.

"You woulda done it, huh?"

Ben blinked. "Done…? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Paid. The ten thousand. You woulda, huh?"

Ben stared blankly. Hoss cleared his throat. "Dav - Dun - Mr. Fairchild was tellin' us as how they was askin' ten thousand ransom fer Adam."

Ben frowned. "I never received a ransom note. Instead, we…" he tapered to silence. 

Fairchild nodded seriously, as though he were thinking hard. "Yeah, that's what they tell me. But if you had. You woulda paid, huh? Fer your boy."

Ben sighed tiredly. "Of course. What do you expect?"

Fairchild nodded again, his face thoughtful, and walked to his horse and swung into the saddle. 

Roy rested his hand on the reins near the horse's bit. "Now, you remember what we talked about. You stay in sight. And, son, if this proves ta be some tall tale yer tellin', well, then, I don't envy you. I may just get busy and leave you alone in a room with these three, accidental like, if that's the case."

Fairchild eyed him, then the Cartwrights, then nodded. 

Roy released his hold on the horse and glanced around at the Cartwrights, his face resolute. "Now, I want you all to remember - I'm the law here. That means you do what I say, as I say. One of ya even tries to step outta line and mess this up and I'll wing ya then arrest ya and I don't much care which one of ya it is. This may be a load o' bunk, but if it ain't I gotta think o' Adam and his safety first. Ya remember that. We clear?" He let his eyes travel from one to the other, and let them rest longest on Joe. Ben seemed almost unaware, Hoss anxious and compliant, so when even Joe nodded acquiescence, he went to mount his own horse. Joe and Ben were already in the saddle by then, but Hoss waited, holding Roy's horse for him. Roy raised his brows questioningly at him as he stood, stolidly clinging to the reins. 

"Roy, I - " Hoss looked up at him, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. "I - just wanted ta thank ya, fer - jest thanks."

Roy smiled. "It's no problem, Hoss. It's my job. Besides, as someone who ain't too good with words pointed out to me, Adam was a right fine deputy ta me fer a time." He patted lightly at the horse's neck, his face suddenly sober. "Right good friend, too. C'mon - let's do this thing."

*

Duncan stiffened in the saddle as he approached the sad looking little ranch house. He had had such dreams for it. Fixing up the structure - maybe adding on a room or two - extending the kitchen for Amelia. Shoring up that sag in the roof. Adding a nice coat of whitewash. The land itself was promising, just left to run sorta wild. Be good property for horses. The kitchen garden could be something too, with a little better care. 

He twitched his shoulders, feeling Sheriff Coffee's eyes on his back, even though he couldn't see him. Even more, he could feel three sets of Cartwright eyes. Boring into him. Hating him. 

It was funny. When he and David and Amelia had talked about all this, the Cartwrights hadn't seemed like real people, exactly - just as sort of handy cash cows. They had money. The Fairchilds didn't. They had somehow kept the Fairchilds from making money…now that he thought about it, David hadn't been too clear about the ins and outs of that part of the story, but he sure seemed convinced of it. Anyway, the Cartwrights had more than enough money, and if they gave some of it to the Fairchilds, they could all have money and live happily ever after. Seemed simple enough. Nobody hurt, nobody losin' anything they couldn't do without anyway. 

But people had got hurt - how had that happened? That youngest Cartwright that kept pickin' fights looked like one big ball o' hurt. That big feller sorta made his head ache just to look at him he seemed so sorta creaking with hurt. That feller in the root cellar was about beyond hurt. And that Ben Cartwright looked about as hurt as a man could get and still be alive. _Ten thousand dollars._ He wondered what it was like to have a Pa that thought so much of ya that he was willin' ta turn over ten thousand dollars without even thinkin' about it. No matter how much money he had, that still seemed like kinda a big deal. He chewed on his lip. Now he was facin' a prison sentence unless the sheriff could swing it otherwise. Maybe he'd get a reward out of it, if he stayed free to spend it. But who knew who would stick to their word once Cartwright was safe? Maybe nobody. It had looked so much like life was finally gonna pay off big - now he'd be lucky if he got off with his freedom. That was the only thing he'd had before all this, but at least he'd had that. Serves you right, Duncan, he scolded himself mildly. You never were good at gamblin'. Shoulda stuck to what you know. 

He dismounted and secured his horse to the shaky hitching rail. Well, easy come, easy go. One thing was for sure - he wasn't cut out for this racket. He felt downright unclean. Might be worth whatever happened just to be able to look himself in the face again. 

He mounted the rickety steps slowly, wondering how exactly he was gonna do this thing. Would help to have a plan, and plans weren't his strong point.

"Where you been?"

Duncan jerked out of his reverie to see David standing in the kitchen, enjoying the company of his ever-present whiskey bottle. He averted his eyes. "Town," he mumbled. "You know that. Where's 'Melia?"

David snorted. "Down cellar with her sweetheart, where else. She's gotta work tonight so she's makin' what time she can." He cackled and shook his head. "So, what were ya doin' in town? Cause I gotta tell you - look more like you were out wrestlin' a steer." He reached out and flicked his fingers at Duncan's sleeve.

Duncan followed his eyes and saw the sleeve was torn away at the shoulder. In fact, now that he looked, he was covered with dust and his eye was aching. He brushed ineffectually at himself. "Got into another fight with that Cartwright kid." He looked up suddenly, staring hard at David. "Seems he thinks his brother is dead."

David's face changed subtly and he turned casually away. "Yeah?" He took a sip from his bottle. "Well, they never was too bright in that family."

"Maybe not," Duncan started to unbutton his shirt. "but it seems funny that he'd have an idea like that if they was tryin' to get together ransom."

David shrugged. "Maybe old man Cartwright ain't confided in his sons."

Duncan pulled off his shirt and scrunched it into a ball. "Yeah. Sure. I'm gonna change my shirt."

David watched him, his eyes calculating. "Ten thousand dollars'll buy a lotta shirts."

Duncan gave a short laugh. "Yeah." He stomped down the hall to the bedroom he shared with David, yanking his other shirt out of the wooden chest and sliding into it.

"You seem kinda out of sorts."

Duncan looked up to see David in the doorway. He pulled irritably at his buttons. "You got some need to watch me dress?"

David grinned around the mouth of the whiskey bottle. "Not 'specially. You just seem outta sorts. I'm worried about ya." 

Duncan snorted. "I'll bet." He shoved his shirttail savagely into his waistband. 

"Now, brother, you sound like you doubt me and my good intentions."

Duncan stepped closer. "Do I?" His voice was rising, but he couldn't seem to stop it. "Well, maybe I got reason - what do you think, David? I got reason to think that maybe you ain't bein' all together straight with me?"

David dropped the bottle and let it dangle from his hand. His eyes were hard and empty. "Why don't you tell me. Brother."

Duncan stood almost nose to nose with him. "Okay - I WILL tell ya - I talked to old man Cartwright and he don't know nothin' about no ransom. He ain't payin' ransom cause he thinks his son is dead. He woulda paid it too, David - all of it! So I don't know what your game is - "

He broke off at the explosion of glass shattering, stared at the remains of David's whiskey bottle in a small heap on the floor under the whiskey stained wall where David had smashed it. He blinked at David's face, suddenly a little wary. 

David's eyes were burning. "You - TALKED with old man Cartwright?"

"Yeah," Duncan bounced on the balls of his feet, but didn't back off. "I was tryin' ta stay outta jail - tryin' ta tell him that nobody killed his son - tryin' ta keep us all out of a fix!"

"You stupid idiot!" David gnashed his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching. "You ruined everything!" His face changed suddenly. "Wait a minute - if they think he's alive…" He whirled in the bedroom doorway, half ran to the kitchen, Duncan hard on his heels. He bent low at the kitchen window, trying to see. "You fool, I'll bet they followed you!"

"Of course they followed me! Damn it, it's over, David, can't you see that? If you had just played nice, if you had just let them give us the money, we could be out of here and a long ways away by now - "

"You stupid, stupid fool!" David's backhanded slap was so fast that Duncan didn't even see it coming, just felt it as it sent him reeling into the wall. "You yellow bellied coward! You ratted out your own family."

Duncan pushed himself away from the wall, not even trying to staunch the blood streaming from his nose. "Look who's talkin' about cowards?" he screamed. "Least I don't have to beat on women and helpless folk to make myself feel like a man!"

David jumped at him, so quickly and so unexpectedly that he didn't even have time to brace himself. They flew through the open kitchen door and onto the back porch, rolling across the weathered boards, through the weakened railing and into the muddy ground of the weed choked kitchen garden.


	34. Chapter 34

From his hiding place in the bushes, Roy Coffee stared. "Well, I'll be double-damned," he whispered. "Either I'm seein' double, or there ARE two of 'em!"

Ben tried to peer over his shoulder. "Good God, then that means…can't you shoot or something?"

"Don't know which is which! Damn fool ain't even wearing the same shirt any more! Still…" he lowered his rifle. "'Spose I should go break it up or somethin'." He took a step forward to move the bushes aside. There was the sound of a pistol report, and suddenly both figures stop struggling together and lay still.

Roy swore quietly but emphatically, not bothering to be stealthy now. One of the heads rose from the ground, and for a second the whole looked like a two-headed sideshow freak, then one figure rolled away from the other and they were two again. The other figure remained motionless. Roy struggled with the clinging arms of the bushes. "All right, nobody move!" _No point in pretending they hadn't already heard him._ The animated figure froze for a second, then scrambled into a crouch, and then a low run. Roy tried to bring his rifle to bear. "I said, stop, son! Or I'll have to shoot!" 

There was a scrabble of footsteps from the porch, and then a high, thin scream pierced the air like a train whistle. Distracted for a second, Roy turned his head to see Amelia standing by the broken porch railing, shrieking. Before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and ran back inside, her skirts flapping around her. In the second it took him to look back, the one brother was diving behind the cover of the barn. 

"I'll get him!" Joe was little more than a blur as he rushed past. 

Roy glanced over his shoulder and indicated the kitchen door where Amelia had disappeared. "Hoss, could you - ?"

"On it, Roy." Hoss was on the porch in two large strides, stepping over the broken rail and disappearing into the kitchen. 

"Just be careful, Hoss, we don't know who else might be in there!" Roy knelt by the figure in the muddy garden even as he spoke, testing for pulse and looking for injuries. There was blood leaking from around the mouth, but he couldn't see any other wounds. He turned him onto his side, let out a low whistle. "Damn. Dead. Musta been a accident. Shot clean in the back."

Ben looked anxiously from the barn to the house and back to Roy. "Which one?"

"Damned if I know. I'm gonna go give Joe a hand - why don't you help Hoss out?"

Ben nodded, a little bewildered by the suddenness of events. He followed Hoss's example and stepped up and onto the porch without the benefit of the stairs, his heart suddenly hammering like a drum. He peered cautiously into the kitchen. It was empty and quiet, streaked with sunlight from one large window. He moved inside. The house seemed deserted at first, but as he listened more carefully he could make out the sounds of Hoss's heavy tread somewhere about, and the muffled noise of things opening and closing. As he listened even more closely, he could hear something else, too - a faint noise, rising and falling, like ghostly wailing. But where was it coming from? He stood very still, trying to quiet the thundering of his heart and place the sound. 

The thump of boot heels on boards to his right all but buried the sound for a minute and he glanced up to see Hoss standing in the archway that led from the kitchen to the house proper. Hoss shook his head in answer to his questioning glance. 

"Looked everywhere I could think of and no sign o' her or Adam. Place ain't all that big neither. I'm gonna check some o' the out buildins…"

Ben nodded vaguely, his ear groping for that faint, persistent sound, filtering into the room from somewhere. "Hoss..." he hesitated. How humiliating to have to admit that he was once again hearing things. He was about to let it drop when he remembered what he had said about talking to each other. He set his teeth_. Well, a little embarrassment never killed anybody…_"Do you hear…?"

Hoss was standing still, his nose wrinkled intently. "What the heck is that?"

Ben let out a sigh of relief. Well, he wasn't crazy then. Yet. "I don't know…where is it coming from?"

Hoss tilted his head. "Sounds kinda like a animal in pain. Almost sounds like it's - I don know - under our feet or somethin'."

__

Under our feet. Ben shuddered involuntarily, remembering his terrible visions of Adam in his grave, sequestered away in some cold, dark space…he drew a hand over his eyes, trying to block them out, then froze, unconsciously clutching at Hoss's arm. "Hoss…" he said slowly. "The Fairchilds don't have a spring house."

Hoss shook his head. "Nope. Ain't a good enough flow o' water close enough ta the house."

"So what do they use to store food in summer and winter? The ground isn't all that rocky here. Do you suppose…?" He dropped his eyes to the floor under his feet, searching the floorboards. 

Hoss looked puzzled for a minute, then understanding dawned. "You mean a cellar? Yeah, reckon they could at that."

Ben was on his hands and knees now, running his fingers along the boards, looking for cracks. He stopped suddenly by the kitchen table. A loop of rough rope was knotted in a hole in one floorboard. If he looked closely, he could make out a square outline around it. Carefully sipping in a breath, he grasped the rope and pulled. The square of floor swung upwards, releasing a whiff of cool air. The high keening sound grew louder and more distinct. He could make out the top of a ladder, fixed somewhere under the floor, only the top few rungs visible in the murky darkness. 

"Hoss." His heart was hammering in his ears now, almost deafening him. His head felt light and indistinct. Hoss had stopped looking and moved over to crouch next to him - he could tell that without looking, because he could not, try as he might, tear his eyes away from the dark aperture below him. 

Hoss waited for a moment then said, "Sounds like Amelia."

Ben nodded blankly. How dark the hole looked. How bottomless. How…familiar.

Hoss waited another minute, then continued patiently. "Root cellar, I reckon. Want me ta go down, Pa?"

Ben shook himself a little, trying to break the death grip the memories of his visions held him in as they intersected with reality, trying to be sensible, practical - to act. 

"Yes," he whispered. _Pa, I was waiting for you…where…?_ "Yes. You can go down right behind me."


	35. Chapter 35

Ben lowered himself onto the ladder, hesitated. _Lord, it looked dark down there._ "Give me a minute to check - we may need a lantern." 

He eased down the first few rungs, cautiously trying to keep watch. The keening voice grew louder, making the hair on his arms lift. It sounded inhuman - like a wounded animal. He squinted at a diffuse light coming from one side of the small underground room, lightening the gloom just barely in a fuzzy circumference, the flame leaping and making shadows jump on the walls. He glanced up at Hoss and nodded to let him know it was all right to follow, grasped the rungs with one hand to free the other to rest on his gun butt.

He landed noiselessly at the foot of the ladder, moving out of the square of light from above, peering around into the shadows. No one was immediately visible except a figure hunched by the far wall with her skirts spread about her, face hidden. She made no move to look at him. He moved closer. The light danced over her, shivering and leaping. _Someone should trim that wick,_ he thought irrelevantly. He could see a little more clearly now, see that she was actually hunched _over_ something. The image jumped and settled with the flame, but he could make out long legs finished in unfamiliar, scuffed and broken-down boots - a step nearer showed a face, mostly concealed by a tangle of arms. 

It didn't matter. Even hidden, even in the wavering light and unrecognizable clothes, he would know that bit of face anywhere. His heart began a light, high knocking in his eardrums. The shrill keening sawed at his nerves. He squinted hard, trying to distinguish a rise and fall of chest from the still figure, but it was impossible to tell if there was real motion or if it was the erratic movement of the lantern light. 

He was standing right behind her now. He could sense Hoss a few paces behind him, holding back - waiting. He cleared his throat. "Miss Amelia - "

"_NO!_" 

He recoiled at the suddenness of the scream, saw her curl herself more tightly, her keening rising frantically, punctuated by whimpering. He touched her tentatively, trying to look around her to get a clearer view of the figure she had attached herself to. 

She shook off his touch. "No - NO - **_NOOOOOO!_**"

Ben fought the urge to cover his ears. _Was he dead? Was he alive? Was her clinging inflicting damage...? _

"Miss Amelia!" He was firmer this time, more no-nonsense. He itched with impatience, longed to shove her aside, but would dragging on her cause more harm…? Still, he needed to see if he was breathing, damn it! He was considering his best move when suddenly Amelia seemed to levitate mysteriously into the air. She clawed desperately at the figure below her, clutched at it, brought away shreds of cloth in her grasping hands, her voice rising and expanding to a hysterical wail. This time Ben did cover his ears. 

Hoss seemed impervious to both the noise and her struggles, held her dispassionately, as if barely aware that she was there. He jerked his head toward the remaining figure. "He alive?"

Ben swallowed. He knelt down, half-afraid, even now thinking that his hopes and desires and the light may have conspired to betray him into seeing what was not really there. He peered closely, keeping his hands bunched into fists, as if at his touch the body would vanish. His breath stoppered in his chest, stuck somewhere below his windpipe. _A few days' growth of beard, shadows of bruising, hills and valleys indicating cuts and abrasions; but the familiar jawline was there, the distinctive chin cleft, the surpisingly short and elegant nose. _He swallowed again. "Adam…" it came out like a sigh, freeing his breath, rushing it pell mell back into his lungs. For a moment it made him dizzy. "Adam…son. Can you hear me?"

There was not the smallest twitch - the slightest reaction, but he could see for sure now that he was breathing - deeply, actually, in an odd, uneven rhythm - breathe in, hitch, hitch, breathe out. Breathe in…unconsciously, Ben breathed in tandem, mimicking the pattern…hitch, hitch, breathe out… "Adam. It's Pa."

__

Nothing. He glanced over his shoulder at Hoss, who was holding Amelia with casual indifference, as though she were a sack of cattle feed, then back at the still figure, studying him. Maybe he was unconscious…he winced, taking stock of the number of cuts and bruises he could make out, hovered over the bound wrists, considered moving them aside to get a better glimpse of his face. In the flickering chiaro-scuro of the uneven flame he saw the ravaged flesh that ringed them, puffed and lacerated and dark with blood, examined the bandage that bound the left hand, soiled, and stiff with more encrusted blood. His stomach rose into his throat and he looked rapidly away, inhaling deeply, trying to settle it back down where it belonged. 

"Dear God," he managed softly, still whispering as though he were in church. "What do you suppose…? It almost looks as though he's been dragged."

Hoss didn't answer, but Ben could tell that he was looking, then felt him turn away and wander a few feet off. Well, he couldn't blame him. It was not a pleasant sight. 

He glanced after him to be sure he was all right, and to give himself respite and steel himself for another glimpse of the torn and seeping wrists. Hoss had drifted closer to the lantern, his image dancing a weird dance in the light cast from its position on top of a barrel. Ben saw him glance speculatively at the ceiling and then crouch down to examine the floor. Ben almost smiled. A little bravado to get his own stomach under control, probably. Amelia clung to Hoss mindlessly now, whining in steady, monotonous intervals. Curled against his imposing size, she looked like a baby animal clinging to its mother. The sight made a cold shiver ripple over Ben's skin. 

"Pa? Hoss?"

Ben barely glanced back at the trap door. "Down here."

Joe's boots appeared at the top of the ladder. He dropped himself onto the dirt floor, blinking about. "What - ?" He drew his breath in sharply. "Oh, God. Is - ?"

"Yes," Ben spoke more abruptly than he'd intended. 

"Then why - ? Let's get him out of here!"

Roy appeared behind Joe now, and Ben half-saw Hoss thrust Amelia at him without even looking to see where she landed. His eyes were firmly fixed on one of the drying hooks in the ceiling. He scraped at it with a fingernail. Ben sighed inwardly. _Whatever made him feel better_. 

"I'm a little afraid to touch him," Ben admitted sheepishly. "He's - pretty battered. I wish Paul were here…"

Joe moved to stand over him, turned away quickly, his throat moving spasmodically. After a minute he finally said, "What's this?" His voice broke a little. 

"What?" Ben didn't really look up from his careful examination of Adam's arms. 

"Looks like that stuff they sell in Chinatown."

Ben did look up at that, saw Joe squatting down to study a half-empty bowl with a small vial beside it. "What is it for?"

Joe shrugged. "I don't know. Medicine, I think, or - you know - to be smoked or something. Hop Sing would know." He stiffened his spine and shot another glance at Adam, looked hastily away again. "Wouldn't it - be better to get him out of here and then take a look at him? It's so dark and cold…"

__

Pa, I was waiting for you…Ben shuddered involuntarily. "You're probably right…I'm just afraid of making things worse…" He bent close to Adam's ear, trying not to admit, even to himself, that his son still seemed almost as far away, as gone from him, as he had when they'd thought they'd buried him. _Maybe if he could just see his eyes_…"Please, Adam - it's Pa. Can you hear me?" This time Adam shivered slightly in response. Encouraged, Ben took a deep breath and tried again. "It's all right, son - everything's all right. We're going to get you out of here." He risked a light, soothing touch to the middle of Adam's chest. This time the reaction was immediate. Adam jumped as if he'd burned him with a branding iron.

Ben swayed backward, startled, as Adam reared up, pressing his back into the dirt wall behind him and raising his bound arms defensively in front of him. His left arm hung limply from where it was roped to the right one, like a bird's broken wing, and Ben noticed for the first time that his right leg stayed thrust awkwardly straight. He tried to get a better glimpse of it without actually dropping his eyes from Adam's face. _Broken? Maybe. Thank God he hadn't tried to move him without checking._ "Adam…" he tried to keep his voice soothing. "It's me. It's Pa." 

Adam's eyes narrowed, glittering with fever and…something else. Ben watched the muscle in his jaw knot and unknot, but his hands never dropped. Ben glanced at the askew left arm again, wincing - he could imagine how painful that must be - he had to get him to relax. "Adam - " he tried again, more urgently. "Adam! Listen to me. It's Pa. It's over. I've come to take you home."

Something flickered across Adam's eyes at that - a quick, almost wistful glimmer of hope - but it was gone almost immediately, clouded under a veil of skepticism and mistrust. Ben made a quick gesture of frustration, regretted it almost immediately as Adam instantly stiffened and seemed to steel himself. 

"God," Joe breathed from somewhere behind him.

Ben dropped his hands to his knees, trying to keep the palms open in an unthreatening pose. "Easy, Adam…" and more softly, over his shoulder, "Joseph, try to find Paul, please. Tell him to meet us at the Ponderosa."

"But, Pa! I don't - "

"Joseph!" Ben hissed as, at the sound of his raised voice, Adam flinched visibly and narrowed his eyes still further. He looked like a man fighting for his life and determined not to go down easy. Ben closed his own eyes for a second, struggling once again with his stomach. "Joseph," he continued more quietly. "Please do as I say. Take that - that - powder - with you." The sound of boots on the ladder rungs told Ben that this time Joe had obeyed. He turned his full attention back to his eldest. "Adam…" he tried to keep his voice gentle, to block out the panic that kept trying to creep into it. "It's me, son. It's your Pa. It's time to go home now."

Adam's brows knotted together, his face wary and confused. He tilted his head a little, blinking as though trying to clear his vision. His chest heaved with his uneven graspings for air. Ben longed to reach out and touch him - to hold him until he believed that he was really there and it was all really all right - but he couldn't imagine how Adam might respond. 

"Hoss - " he said desperately. "I need help. See if he recognizes you. We need to get him out of this cold and damp and to some medical attention." 

Hoss stopped his examination of the drying hooks and strolled over, crouched down beside them. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw him rub at his face, heard him clear his throat roughly, but his voice when he spoke was off-hand. "Say, Adam…"

Adam's head jerked in his direction, his arms still raised to ward off Ben. Then there was a thwack and a thud and Adam's head snapped back against the wall. 

Ben blinked, needing a second to understand what had happened. "Hoss - !" he began angrily, as he watched Adam's eyes open wide with surprise, then roll slowly back into his head. _He hadn't even seen Hoss's fist lash out. What on earth did he think he was…? _Adam slid slowly down the wall, listing to the right. 

Hoss didn't look at Ben. He caught hold of Adam, his grip infinitely gentle, tucking the limp head into the crook of his neck and running an apologetic hand over the dark, disheveled hair. "I got'em, Pa," he said simply. "Mebbe you better go ahead with the lantern."

Ben stared at him, still shocked and a little indignant. "His leg - " he stammered uncertainly. "I think it may be broken…" 

Hoss followed his gaze and reached down to probe Adam's right leg, focusing on the swollen knee. Even in his unconscious state, Adam shuddered at his touch. Hoss shook his head. "Not broken. Sprained or dislocated or somethin', mebbe. I'll be careful of it. Let's get the hell outta here."


	36. Chapter 36

The buckboard rocked in another rut in the road and Ben reached out automatically to steady himself against the side, his other hand stretching downward to stabilize the upper arm lying near his knee. Not the best for Adam's injured shoulder, probably, to travel with his head in his father's lap, but at least it would provide some cushion against the unforgiving buckboard floor and stop him from sliding about the wagon bed. All things considered, it seemed like the better choice for him. Ben knew it was certainly the better choice for himself. 

Blissfully unconscious, Adam could neither withdraw or retreat, and though he handled his son as delicately as if he were made of blown glass, Ben at least could touch him now - feel the blood and warmth that meant life pulsing under his skin. He frowned slightly, shifting his hand to rest it gingerly on the pale forehead in his lap, trying to avoid putting pressure on any cuts or bruises. A little too much warmth, actually. But though Adam's face was flushed and hot, he still shivered uncontrollably. Ben had dug a quilt out of an old blanket chest in the hall of the Fairchild house to wrap around him. Now, with Adam's tapestry of injuries covered and his face quiet in repose, Ben felt a small sense of normalcy for the first time in days. If he kept from looking at the spot where blood had seeped through the quilt, he could almost pretend that Adam was just asleep. He sighed. Almost.

He glanced over his shoulder at the broad back occupying the driver's seat. After locating a bench on the porch and settling Adam there as comfortably as possible, Hoss had abandoned him to Ben's tender mercies and left without comment to explore some of the out buildings. He had returned a short while later leading a sturdy horse hitched to a buckboard. Silently, he had drawn a tarp from the wagon bed and wrapped Fairchild's body in it, then turned to Roy, who seemed almost as much at a loss as Ben. _Well, no wonder, really_. Ben smiled a little ruefully as he remembered Amelia Fairchild twined around Roy, making those inhuman, wounded noises. 

Hoss had pushed his hat back on his head. "I figger ta put the body on yer horse, Roy," he explained. "Thought you could ride Chubb - he's the biggest, an' he'll hold both you an Miss 'Melia back ta town…"

"Hoss - " Ben was still distressed by Hoss's abrupt method of dispatching with their problem and a little shocked at how calm, almost apathetic, he seemed, and had hoped to talk to him about it. 

But Hoss hadn't seemed to hear Ben, had kept his gaze intently on the dead body he was bundling meticulously and swinging onto the saddle of Roy's roan. "I'll drive the wagon on over ta the Ponderosa - Pa can sit in back with Adam."

Ben had leaned over to touch his arm and get his attention, but, unnoticing, Hoss had moved out of his reach, carefully finishing the knots that fastened the body to the saddle. Ben had watched him in some exasperation, repeating, "Hoss!"

Hoss had walked away as if Ben hadn't spoken, fetched Buck from where he was tethered and brought him around to the wagon tailgate. "We better get started afore it gets any later if'n we wanna be home by dark. Reckon Joe'll have Doc there by that time, if'n he's lucky and finds him in."

Roy had stood watching Hoss too, his face curious and speculative. "Sounds like you got it all figgered out," he remarked pleasantly. "Reckon maybe you'd better send Paul 'round to the jail when he's done with Adam - think he might need to take a look at Miss Amelia, too." He glanced at the woman clinging mindlessly to him and patted her back absently.

Hoss nodded, fussing with securing Buck to the tailgate.

"Hoss." Ben had actually touched him then, kept his hand on his sleeve, tried to get a look at his face. Hoss finally lifted his eyes. 

Ben shivered all over again, remembering the naked suffering he'd seen coiled there. He had let his hand drop from Hoss's arm, suddenly cold and tired inside, unsure of what to say. "I need you to help me lift your brother," he forced out finally.

Hoss had nodded, dropping his eyes again. "Yeah," he agreed after a minute. "Yeah. Don't worry. I got 'em."

They hadn't said much to each other after that.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut at the memory, tightening his grip on the quilt over Adam. The wagon wheel hit another furrow and Ben tried to brace himself and Adam against the jump of the wagon floor. Adam's eyelids shifted and he muttered something. Ben couldn't make it out, but he patted soothingly at the uninjured shoulder on his knee anyway. Adam shuddered, twisting away from him and whispering unintelligibly. Then he was still. 

Ben stared at his hands, wondering what to do with them. 

By nature Adam was not a physically demonstrative man, but Ben couldn't remember a time in his life when his father's touch had been anything but comforting to him. Little things, of course - an arm about the shoulders, a hand resting on his back - small, but important, he had always thought. An anchoring of their quiet, but profound bond. The loss of that physical link amplified his sense of strangeness and separation and for a moment he felt more keenly distant from his child than he had as he'd watched them throw clods of earth onto the lid of the polished pecan coffin. That thought frightened him so much that he had to look away - at the sky, at the trees, at the uneventful passing scenery - anywhere but down in his lap. After a minute, he twisted his hands in the quilt again, careful to avoid any direct skin-to-skin contact. Adam remained quiet. _They were making good time, _he reassured himself,_ even with the wagon. They should be home soon. _

It hadn't taken them long to get on the road, not with Hoss blindly and efficiently taking care of the details. Hoss had insisted on loading Adam into the wagon without help. The combination of his distant behavior and Adam's resistance to touch made Ben feel curiously alone - left out. He had climbed meekly into the wagon and tried to get comfortable in one corner, then stared down at Adam's face, bruises stark and livid in the late afternoon sun. He couldn't help himself. He had gathered the heavy head into his lap and cradled it there. Adam had been too deeply unconscious to know the difference. Ben smiled grimly at the memory. Hoss had a good, strong right. Now, if only it would last.

He smiled a little more, remembering how Roy had stared helplessly at the girl in his arms as if unsure of what to do with her, knowing that doing something couldn't be put off any longer. He had squinted thoughtfully up at Chubb's saddle, then seemed to decide. He hefted Amelia into the saddle, trying to center her and keep her upright. She had drooped forward over the horn. 

"Hoss," he said at last, after struggling for a minute. "Kin you steady her long enough fer me ta climb on behind?"

Hoss had nodded, braced his hands around Amelia's waist as if she was a stack of fence poles he was preparing to lift. He almost lost his grip when Amelia straightened suddenly, lifting her head and blinking about. 

"Why, Sheriff Coffey," she purred, tilting her chin coquettishly. "How nice of you to help me! But where on earth are we goin'?"

Roy looked startled, but had touched his hat politely. "Why, inta town, Miss Amelia. You said as how you needed a ride."

"Oh," Amelia seemed surprised, but accepting. "Well, that's very obliging of you, I must say." She patted at her hair. "I do have some shopping I have to do." She leaned down, almost overbalancing herself out of the saddle, stopped from falling only by Hoss's grip. She didn't appear to notice. She put her face so close to Roy's that for a moment it seemed as though she was going to kiss him, but instead she whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"

Roy stared at her like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake. "I - I reckon, ma'am."

She smiled, dropping her lashes. "I wouldn't tell just anyone…but you bein' such a close friend of the family…" She moved her face closer, so that Roy flinched, settled her mouth next to his ear. "Adam and me are gonna be married. I'm goin' into town to have a dress made. I know he'll want you to be at the wedding, but for now, ssshhhhhh…" Roy shuddered at the hiss of breath against his ear. "Our secret."

Roy glanced over at Ben, caught his eyes. Then he turned back to Amelia, touching his hat again. "Yes'm. Guess we'd better get goin', then." He had pulled himself up and behind her. As soon as he had hold of her, Hoss dropped his hands and walked away.


	37. Chapter 37

__

A/N: Some disturbing images. Read at own risk.

The sun was just dipping behind the trees when they finally pulled in front of the house. Ben noticed with relief that Paul's buggy was there, and that Joe had seen to the horse. 

Joe exploded from the door almost before the wagon wheels stopped turning. He went up to the wagon and leaned over the side. "Doc an' Hop Sing are inside, gettin' things ready. Is he - do you want me to…" He looked at Adam, couldn't stop his eyes from skidding away again. 

Hoss secured the horse and came around to stand next to him. "I'm gonna lift 'em. If'n you could steady his feet, that'd help."

Ben looked at Hoss in mild surprise. Well, at least he was letting somebody lend a hand. He tried to get a better glimpse of his face, but Hoss kept it carefully averted.

"Pa? Say, Pa?" Ben glanced at Joe questioningly. Joe looked embarrassed. "This'd go better if you'd let go of the quilt." 

Ben dropped his gaze to his hands, noticed that they were hanging onto the quilt in a white-knuckled grip. _Oh._ He pried them carefully loose. They felt stiff and cramped, like claws. He watched Hoss and Joe lift Adam, unfolded his legs and dropped himself over the side of the buckboard. His muscles were rigid and he staggered for a minute, then found his feet and followed them inside and up the stairs. 

Hop Sing was already waiting in Adam's room. He had set up a table with buckets of steaming water beneath it and Paul's bag and towels and torn sheets on top of it. Ben heard him breathe something softly in Chinese as Hoss and Joe lowered Adam carefully onto the bed. Ben met his eyes for a minute, then looked away, his gaze returning inexorably to Adam's face.

"Thanks, boys. Now I'd appreciate a little room to work in here." Ben noticed Paul in the corner for the first time, coat off, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll call you if I need help." He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

Joe opened his mouth as if he wanted to object, but Hoss patted him lightly in the middle of the back and nodded toward the door. Joe's mouth set mulishly for a second, then he glanced at Adam again and his forehead wrinkled. After a second he reluctantly shuffled out ahead of Hoss.

Dr. Martin closed the door behind them, glanced at Ben as if he wanted to say something and then thought better of it. He fussed with his sleeves, running his eyes over Adam. He reached down and held the back of his hand against the still face. 

"He may fight you," Ben explained. "He wouldn't let us near him until Hoss…" he trailed off, embarrassed somehow to admit that his own son hadn't known him or that his other son had knocked his brother out. 

Doc Martin nodded absently. "Not surprised. Nice fever. Normally I'd give him something to keep him under, but I don't know how much of that white powder Joe showed me he has in him, so I don't dare risk it. We'll just do the best we can. He's quiet right now, anyway." He peeled back the quilt, pulling carefully where the blood stains clung to the skin underneath. He tossed it aside and began his inventory. 

Ben tore his eyes away from Adam and watched the doctor's face. Except for a quick grimace when he got to the torn wrists, it remained characteristically impassive. "Scissors, Hop Sing?" He accepted the sharp-bladed scissors and lifted what was left of the tattered, stained shirt to cut it away. He paused.

Ben studied him, the careful blankness in his expression more unsettling than any exclamation of shock could have been. "What is it?" he asked uneasily.

Paul put the remains of the shirt neatly back in place and straightened. "You know, Ben," he said, with deliberate casualness, "There's a lot of work to do here, and it's going to take me a while to make my way through it. Might be better if you waited downstairs with the boys. Hop Sing here can help me."

Ben folded his arms over his chest. "Paul," he ground out, a little surprised himself at the unexpected edge in his voice, "I've spent the last three days trying to cope with the idea that I'd lost him. Now I'm not leaving him."

Paul studied his face quietly for a moment, then shrugged slightly and turned back to his patient, slashing expertly through the worn fabric and tossing it aside. 

Ben closed his eyes briefly at the landscape of marks and bruises, then opened them again and forced himself to focus, trying to gauge the extent of the damage. His forehead creased. "What are those?" he asked at last.

Paul glanced where he indicated. "Burns," he said briefly, applying the scissors to the ragged pants. 

Ben's brows rose. "Then he was in the fire."

Paul didn't look at him. "No. No, I don't think so."

Ben looked more closely at the round sores, red scabbed and weeping. They did all look about the same size - not like the product of random sparks. "Then what would cause something like that?"

Paul was examining Adam's swollen knee and didn't look up. "Cheroot, I think."

"A cheroot?" Ben leaned closer, careful not to touch. "But there's several of them. I could understand one, but how could…" Ice prickled his skin as a new thought crept darkly into his brain. He glanced sharply toward where the doctor was busy with Adam's knee. "What are you telling me, that someone actually…?"

Paul lowered his scissors and met his eyes squarely. 

Ben felt his unreliable stomach lift and roil again. He swallowed once, then again, not sure that was going to do the trick this time. _Air, that was what he needed. Some fresh air_. 

His eyes dropped from Paul's, slid over Adam, noting the areas of his body as yet unexamined, dwelt briefly on the possible new horrors to be discovered there, ricocheted to the floor. He swallowed again, surprised by the sudden undulation of the floorboards under his feet. 

"Maybe you're right," he choked gruffly when he could trust himself to speak. "Maybe it would be better if I - waited outside." 

He caught a glimpse of Paul's face, soft with understanding. "I think that's a good idea. I'll let you know as soon as I've finished."

Ben stumbled to the door, closed it behind him and leaned against it for a minute, trying to let the world steady, trying by sheer will to control his stomach. He could hear Hoss's stolid pacing on the floorboards below, could picture Joe restlessly shifting on the settee. His mind slid automatically to his remaining son and his stomach clenched again, nearly escaping his precarious control. He squeezed his eyes shut.

__

He should go downstairs. Or maybe outside, on the porch, where he could breathe. He pushed himself away from the bedroom door at his back and staggered forward. He made it as far as the top step before his knees dissolved beneath him. He sat down with a thump and buried his face in his hands.

*

"Pa." Hoss's voice sounded soft and foreign to his ears - almost didn't register. "_Pa."_ More insistent this time. He turned his head to indicate that he'd heard. "Doc must be about done. He's washin' up, then he'll be down."

Ben nodded. It was so peaceful out here - so normal. The sounds of the insects, the brilliant sweep of stars. Back inside nothing was normal - things were shattered and out of kilter, like the images in a broken mirror. Things he couldn't fix or change. He sighed, staring at the dark, empty space that had been his barn. Maybe if he stayed out here forever things would go back to normal. Maybe all of this would disappear and the worst of his worries would be a burned barn.

"Pa?" Joe this time, voice tinged with worry. 

He sighed again. He was frightening his children now, and that wasn't fair either. He needed to get a hold of himself, for them and for Adam, too. "Coming, son." With one last look at the peaceful night, he turned to enter the house.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark, so he stood blinking for a moment, letting them get accustomed to the light. Paul was descending the stairs, wiping his hands on a towel. He gave Ben a tight smile. Ben looked at him more closely. "Is your nose bleeding?"

"Still?" Paul dabbed at his nose. "Thought it had stopped." Ben raised a questioning brow. "You were right - put up a fight at one point. Caught me in the face with one hand. Just lucky - don't think he was actually aiming."

"He _hit_ you?" Ben rubbed a hand over his forehead. Surely, the world had run mad. 

Paul smiled. "Oh, it wasn't much of a hit. Hasn't got a lot of power behind his swing at the moment."

Ben decided that he'd probably better sit down. He sank into a chair and gestured for Paul to do the same. It took him a moment to realize that he had selected the blue chair that Adam favored and he sighed again. "So," he felt his mouth twitch. "How is he?"

"Well…" Paul dropped into the red leather chair, accepted a cup of coffee from Hoss. "I strapped up his knee, got his shoulder back in place. Cleaned things up. Funny - doesn't seem to be any internal damage. Almost like somebody meant to hurt without actually…" his eyes rested on Ben's face and he trailed off, cleared his throat, took a sip of his coffee. After a pause he continued. "Worst of it was his arms and that left hand. That was a mess. An infection building there, but could be worse. Little while longer and we'd be looking at gangrene. Took me a while to sort that tangle out. Needed some fancy sewing - Hop Sing helped with that. Tell you, that rope had just about - " He stopped and cleared his throat again. "Sorry." He shrugged apologetically. "Long day." He took another drink from his cup, poured himself a little more. "Any idea what happened there? Never seen anything quite like it."

Ben shook his head. "No. He was just lying there when we found him. I wondered myself. Almost looks like - "

"Hung 'em." Hoss's voice was so unexpected that everyone stared at him in surprise. No one looked more surprised to find he'd spoken than Hoss himself. He reddened and dropped his eyes. 

"What did you say?"

Hoss's color deepened. "Nothin'," he muttered.

"Hung him?" Ben persisted, his hand going automatically to touch his throat. "What do you mean? What are you talking about? How could he - ?"

"Not - I don't mean like that - by the neck." Hoss looked acutely uncomfortable. Joe was staring at him with his mouth slightly open. "It - forget it."

"Hoss." Ben's voice deepened and Hoss winced. He toed at a suddenly interesting point on the floor, then seemed to find one on the wall he liked even better and stared at it. 

"One of them drying hooks - the kind ya hang smoked meat from? Had - dried blood on it. Was some on the floor underneath, too. I figger they…" He paused and let his breath out slowly through his nose. "…would explain how the ropes got dug in like that anyhow."

The ticking of the Grandfather clock sounded abnormally loud in the silence that followed. Joe sat down abruptly on the settee, his complexion tinged suddenly green.

Ben stared. After a minute he stammered, "Well…if they were using them for meat, it's possible - "

Hoss had obviously already thought of that. "Not raw meat, Pa. You don't keep raw meat in a root cellar. Had to be from…somethin' else. Not - not the meat. Not - that kind, anyhow."

Ben was regretting his few sips of coffee as he felt his stomach rise warningly again.

Paul saw and stepped in, clearing his throat delicately. "I - didn't give him anything for the pain, so he might be a little hard to manage. Hop Sing knows a whole lot more about that powder than I do, so I'm letting him handle that. He tells me that they mix all kinds of things in with it, so it's hard to know exactly what we're dealing with. I want to keep a close eye on that infection and the dressings on his hand and arms need to be changed three or four times a day. Keep them really clean."

Ben dragged himself from a half-trance. "I'm sorry, Paul," he said roughly. "I haven't even offered you anything to eat. Hop Sing is busy, but there must be something in the pantry - something for sandwiches, at least - "

"I'll take a look." Hoss disappeared to the kitchen with a speed that was astonishing for such a large man. Ben wasn't even tempted to smile. For once he was sure it had nothing to do with his usually active appetite.

Joe was staring at the top of the staircase, his eyes fixed and blank. Ben could imagine the pictures that were flashing across his mind behind that stare. Best to put a stop to that or they'd all be having nightmares. "Joseph, why don't you give your brother a hand?" Joe didn't even blink and Ben set his teeth. _Didn't anyone hear him when he spoke anymore?_ "Joseph!"

Joe started, moved his stare to encompass Ben. That stare held a frightened, haunted quality that tore at Ben's heart. _Too late to stop the nightmares, probably_. "Why don't you help your brother with the sandwiches?" he repeated more quietly. Joe looked back at the staircase, moved his mouth as if he wanted to ask something, then nodded jerkily. He stumbled to his feet and walked, zombie-like, to the kitchen. 

Ben watched him go, then switched his gaze to Paul. "What else should I know?"

Paul leaned over to refresh his coffee. "That your son is still alive? And that I don't see that changing in the foreseeable future?" 

Ben nodded blankly. "At what cost, I wonder. I can't imagine how this might leave him - change him."

Paul studied him for a long time. "Are you saying it might have been better if he hadn't survived?"

"No! Of course not! Never!" The ferocity of his own tone shocked and relieved him at the same time. He had been wondering if he felt that way, just a little, deep inside. "I'm glad my son's alive. Thankful. I just wish…" Paul didn't interrupt him, and he stirred aimlessly at his coffee. "I wish it was - gone. Not true. That it didn't happen. I want it to not be true."

Paul didn't laugh, didn't even smile. "I remember feeling that way when I first started practicing medicine. Some of the things I saw were horrifying, permanent - I kept wanting the same thing. A way to stop them - to turn back time and make them not true."

Ben peered at him over his coffee. "And now?"

"Now." Paul put his cup back in its saucer, arranging the cup handle at a careful angle. "Well. What I came to realize is that that was just something we didn't get. We couldn't turn back time. But as a doctor, there were things I _could_ do: repair some of the damage, relieve some of the pain, offer comfort. Keep watch and see that things heal properly." He looked at his hands a moment, then rubbed them together. "It's not much, maybe. But it's something. A way to go forward. Because that's the other thing we don't get - a choice about stopping the clock. We can't go back and we can't not go forward. So we have to figure out a _way_ to go forward. One foot in front of the other usually works, I find."

Ben gave up pretending to drink his coffee and put his cup down, too. "I hope I can," he said quietly. "He needs me. They - " he nodded toward the kitchen, "need me. And here I sit - frozen. Even my brain feels frozen. My heart."

Paul nodded faintly, pressing his fingertips into his forehead, abruptly losing his impassive doctor's face and looking sad and torn himself. "You'll do fine. Your heart's not frozen."

"No?" Ben almost smiled in response. "Is that your professional opinion? How would you know that?"

Paul sat back in the leather chair, unrolling his sleeves and fussing with the cuffs. "Simple. Easy diagnosis. I just read the symptoms. Frozen hearts don't feel pain."


	38. Chapter 38

__

Frozen hearts don't feel pain. Ben turned the thought over in his mind again as he made his way from one side of the room to the other, half listening to the dull, slow thud of his heels on the floorboards. Well, if that was the case then Paul was right, of course - his heart wasn't frozen precisely, but it was numb - numb with a terrible, deep ache - like frost-bitten fingers exposed too quickly to the warmth. He turned around to make his way back to the opposite wall.

He had never thought of Adam's room as small. Oh, it wasn't large, precisely, but it was a good size - enough room for his bed and desk and dresser and shaving stand and bookcases without being crowded - but now it seemed cramped. Claustrophobic. The walk from one wall to the other opposite he had performed a dozen or more times already and the room seemed to draw in upon itself with every pass he made, getting smaller and smaller. He paused his pacing as he reached the foot of the bed. 

Usually he sat. It was what he had intended to do - sit up all night with Adam. That was his wont when one of the boys was ill and he liked to think that it gave comfort - he knew it comforted him. He draped his elbows over the ornate footboard. Of course, things hadn't turned out quite as he had planned. 

When he had announced his intention, Hoss had suggested that they all take turns instead. His veto had been immediate and firm - until he had seen their faces, that is. He bowed his head and rested his forehead in his hands. _Joe's pinched and tense, Hoss's blank and empty_… _he had to remember that this was not just his pain - that they were as lost as he felt, needed comfort too._ Swallowing his disappointment, he had admitted that perhaps taking turns would be best after all. They would divide up the night. He would go first. Their expressions had almost made the gesture worth it, but now he was wondering how, when someone came to relieve him, he would ever tear himself away. 

He raised his head again and obliquely studied the figure in the bed. He had the lantern turned up fairly high - when Adam awoke he wanted him to notice it right away, to understand that he wasn't trapped in that cellar any longer - so he could see quite clearly, images blunted by only the softest of shadows. Adam's breathing still had that odd hitch to it, though Paul insisted that there was no internal damage that he could discover. Not that it was impossible, but by Adam's pulse, Paul figured it more likely that the breathing was a result of the drug or - other things. Ben's mouth twisted into a grim parody of a smile as he recalled Paul's delicate little pauses whenever he tried to avoid stating the brutal truth. _Other things_. Well, until Adam came somewhat to himself, it was hard to know how much damage had resulted from "other things". If he ever came to the himself they remembered again. _And now he was sloughing away at his sanity for nothing, before he really knew anything._

He moved away from the footboard, edged in closer and sat down on the bed instead. His weight shifted the mattress slightly and Adam's breath stopped for a heartbeat, his head turning the slightest bit. Ben remained very still, unconsciously holding his own breath as well. Then Adam's breathing picked up again and Ben relaxed.

It was odd, really. Adam was definitely unconscious, slightly delirious - and yet Ben couldn't shake the feeling that he was still hyper-alert, poised to protect himself. Even sitting near him, he felt the thin thread of unrelieved tension - of strain. He wished desperately that he could do something to ease that - could see him really relax, really rest. He reached out automatically to run a hand over the tumbled dark hair, stopped himself just in time. _No, none of that. Only made things worse._ He folded his arms over his chest to arrest the impulse. 

Despite his shock, he had secretly found some solace in the fact that Adam had struck out at Paul as well. Somehow he hadn't been able to help wondering if it was him personally Adam was trying to push away - if he was angry at him for not coming sooner, for not finding him. He knew the feeling was unreasonable - well, part of him knew it anyway. The other part felt he _should_ be blamed - that he should have known. Should have found him sooner. He was his father. That was his job.

He leaned in closer without touching, studying his face. Hop Sing would try shaving him tomorrow, but for tonight it was agreed that it was best just to let him rest. What they were avoiding admitting to each other was that the dark stubble hid some of the damage and that for right now, that was just fine. Only one deepening purple-black stain stood out clearly, just to the right side of Adam's chin, and that was only because it was so fresh. Ben peered at it closely. Yes, Hoss certainly had a strong right. 

It wasn't until he saw his own hand hovering over the bruise that he realized what he was about to do and snatched it back again. Over thirty years of habit to break in an instant. He wasn't sure he could do it. He rose from the bed, moved to lean next to the headboard instead where he could still see, but would be exposed to less temptation, sighed heavily through his teeth. 

Things did look better, though, now that Paul was done - more humanized. Civilized. Adam's right hand was thrown across the opposite pillow, showing the bright white bandage encasing the wrist and wrapped around the hand for anchoring, but disguising the mutilation there. The other hand was hidden by the blanket, but Ben remembered how it had looked after Paul had finished - the palm and wrist buried in bandages, the whole arm carefully affixed to Adam's chest until the shoulder could heal. There was a lump under the bedclothes to indicate the bound up knee and elevated leg, but other than that, there was only Adam's face visible. And really, you could almost fool yourself into believing that the cuts and bruises there were just the result of a fist fight. Almost. So why couldn't he?

The varying ages of the wounds, maybe…some bruises starting to fade, over them newer ones - more recent cuts next to crusting scabs. But he didn't really think that was it. It was something - subtler. Something in Adam's face - his expression, even in insensibility - something that made Ben want to scream and rage and grab a pitchfork and drive it as far away from his son as the distance between heaven and earth would allow. If he only knew what "it" was. If only he could be sure that he really _wanted_ to know.

Adam stirred restlessly and Ben hesitated. He was so flushed - as if the fever was climbing. He didn't quite dare touch his forehead to test and see, but he did reach for a nearby bowl and cloth and dab tentatively at his face. Adam froze, statue-still. Ben could see the muscles coil and tighten in his neck, felt his own hands bunch into fists. _Oh, son. What on earth could they have done to you to make such simple, innocuous contact seem threatening?_ He dropped into a crouch by the bed, trying to make himself appear small and harmless, rewet the cloth and patted it over Adam's neck. 

"Adam," he whispered, "it's just Pa. You're home and everything's all right. I swear, everything will be fine. It's just me." Adam's brows pushed together and Ben caught his breath, watching. "Adam?" he repeated softly. Something looked different…something…did he recognize his voice? "Son, it's me. Can you hear me?" Adam didn't move, but Ben somehow got the sense that he was listening. Did he know him? He certainly hadn't seemed to back at the Fairchild ranch. He put out a hand to brush his cheek, pulled it back just in time. _No._ He couldn't touch him, but maybe there were other ways to reach him. 

He wet his cloth again and wrung it out, draped it carefully across Adam's forehead. _Sound_. If he couldn't reach him through touch, maybe he could get through to him with sound - let him know where he was, let him know that he was safe. 

He unbent his knees, rising slowly. He could talk to him, he supposed…his eye swept over the night table and he paused. Or read to him. He had been reading to Adam since almost before he was old enough to listen. His eye stopped on something else, and he half-smiled. _Of course, what had he been thinking? _He'd been dragging that back and forth between Adam's room and his own, since…well. Since he'd heard. He picked up the china music box, turned the key in the bottom lifted the lid. The little waltz started up, tinny and sweet. He put it down on the night table and set a chair near it. Now, what to read? Lord Byron's poetry was still sitting out. He could read that. Or…_oh, why not_. 

He strode over to Adam's desk and chose a worn volume from the small group lined up on top. Surely he'd recognize that, he'd read it to him so many times. He smiled a little more as he remembered how young Adam had been the first time they'd made their way through it together. He couldn't have been much more than three - surely no more than four. Much too young for a single syllable of it to make sense to him, but he had sat very still just the same and seemed to enjoy it. Or maybe it was the sound of his father's voice he'd been enjoying - or having his undivided attention. A little further into the adventures of fatherhood he probably would have chosen more wisely, something more age-suitable, but at the time it had seemed to make sense, and besides, it was one of the only books he had owned. And Adam had developed such a love of poetry - who knew whether or not that early exposure had contributed?

He settled himself in the chair near the bed and looked closely at Adam, used the cloth to pat at his face once more, then rewet it and placed it again on his forehead. Maybe it was his imagination, but he seemed a little quieter to him - to hold himself less rigidly. He opened the book, watching him over the top. "Book One," he recited, almost without glancing at the page, "Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste brought death into the world, and all our woe, with the loss of Eden, til one greater Man restore us…"

Adam's head shifted the slightest bit, sinking a little into the pillow. His lips moved silently. 

Ben paused, watching him. He pulled his chair closer to the head of the bed, resting his elbow on it, allowing himself at least that much contact; lifted the book again. _Been a while since he'd read this._ He cleared his throat. "Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat, Sing Heav'nly Muse, that on the secret top of OREB, or of SINAI, didst inspire that Shepherd, who first taught the chosen Seed, in the Beginning how the Heav'ns and Earth Rose out of CHAOS…" 

__

Was he dreaming it, or did that hitch in his breathing seem less pronounced? He closed his eyes for just a second, sent up a silent prayer. Then he began to read again.


	39. Chapter 39

"I can't, Hoss - I'm sorry. I honestly thought I could when I said it - I meant to - but I can't. I know it doesn't make sense, but I feel as though if I leave him, I'll come back to find the room the way it was yesterday - empty. I - I can't take the chance."

Hoss shifted in the doorway, trying to hide his disappointment. "You look tired out, Pa."

"I am." Ben stretched his back and shifted to find a more comfortable position. "But leaving won't make it better - it will only make it worse. You can stay if you want, of course."

Hoss's face lightened perceptibly. He edged his bulk noiselessly into the room. "How's he doin'?"

Ben shrugged. "I can't tell. The smallest thing seems to…sometimes I think he's better. Then I think I just imagined it."

Hoss found a chair he liked and sat himself in it. "Somethin' I kin do?"

"You could read for a while, if you like. My voice is getting tired."

Hoss made a face when he saw the selected book, but took it anyway, eyeing the page it was open to. "He ain't shiverin' no more," he observed.

"Comes and goes." Ben poured himself a glass of water, thought of something. "If he needs water, use the rag. He won't drink from a glass. Just turns his head away."

"I could hold 'em while you git it down 'em."

"No." Ben realized how quickly he'd spoken and reddened. "I - think - it's important - that he doesn't feel - restrained in any way. That he knows he's not…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

Hoss dropped his eyes to the bed, let them stop on the bandaged hand on the pillow. He stared at it for a moment, then tucked the blankets discreetly over it. "Yeah," he said flatly. "Yeah, I see what you mean." He fidgeted with the book, stole another peek at his brother. "Pa - " 

Ben waited, then raised his brows questioningly.

Hoss flushed uncomfortably. "I jest - I guess I kin sorta unnerstand the feller who wanted the money. And even Miz 'Melia - I figger I kin sorta unnerstand her. Cain't quite forgive 'er, but - I reckon I kin unnerstand what she was after, anyway. But - " he shrugged unhappily. "What in tarnation makes a feller do somethin' like this? What's he get outta it? Fer the life of me I jest cain't figger."

Ben rubbed at a tight spot between his eyebrows. "I don't know, Hoss. Power, maybe. I guess there are some people who just need to - feel in control. Even if it's false control. I can't really pretend to understand it myself."

Hoss puckered his forehead and nodded, staring at Adam's face. "Cain't believe he's alive," he burst out finally. "Cain't believe he's alive an he's been alive all this time. Always thought to myself that I'd know if he was gone, and I did, I reckon, didn't feel he was, I mean, but - " he broke off; his chest heaving suddenly in a stifled sob. "I'm sorry, Pa." 

Ben rose to his feet and hurried around the bed, resting his hands on Hoss's shoulders. _This was one son he could touch anyway. _He felt Hoss's shoulders quiver under his palms and kneaded them comfortingly. 

"Jest feel so sorta busted up inside - kinda like he looks on the outside. Every time I think about…" The shoulders jumped and quaked wildly now and Ben tightened his grip wordlessly. After a minute Hoss seemed to get himself under some kind of control and wiped a big hand over his eyes. "Jest figgers. Hardly cried at all at the funeral. Now I know he's alive and kin hardly stop."

Ben laughed softly, the sound unexpected to his own ears. When was the last time he had done that? When was the last time anybody had laughed around here?

"Feels like I'm about half crazy."

Ben patted one broad shoulder comfortingly. "Good description. I feel that way myself. More than half, maybe. Don't know whether I'm awake or dreaming, to tell the truth."

"Ain't my idee of a dream."

Ben looked over at Adam. "No," he agreed softly.

The door opened and they both looked up. Joe stood in the doorway, his hair rumpled and his dressing gown loosely belted. "Hi," he mumbled drowsily. "My turn?"

Hoss took a final swipe at his eyes. "Hey, Shortshanks. No, not fer a couple hours yet. I jest got here."

"Oh." Joe came in anyway, slumped into the chair next to Hoss with a yawn. "Well, as long as I'm up."

"Don't look like ya are up."

"I am." Joe rested his feet against the lower bed rail. Ben started to object, stopped himself. He'd been hanging onto the bed himself - might as well take what closeness they could get. Joe had his head tilted back and was studying Adam cautiously. "How's he doin'?"

Ben bit back a sigh. _The question of the hour._ "He's resting, more or less. Fever's about the same. Mostly he's quiet." 

"Oh." Joe yawned again, still watching Adam, his eyebrows pushed together. 

"You know, there's no reason you can't go back to bed, Joseph," Ben said mildly.

Joe shook his head. "I'll stay."

"Then maybe you kin help read to 'em. Pa's readin' this."

Joe took the book in question, turned it over in his hands, but made no move to start reading. "When do you think he'll - you know - wake up?"

"Paul couldn't say. Doesn't have any idea how much of the drug he may have ingested or for how long."

"Oh." Joe craned his neck to get a better look. "I think he looks a little better. I mean than - " he slumped lower in his chair and crossed his arms over the book. "You know." He shuddered involuntarily and shimmied his chair a little closer to Hoss's. "When he - when he wakes up…what do we say to him?"

Ben lifted his brows. "Nothing special."

"We can't - we can't just pretend nothin's happened, Pa."

__

But that's what I want. To turn back time - erase the last few days. Go on as though nothing happened - nothing worse than an accident, anyway. He sighed through his nose. "No."

"I just - don't know what to say after all this. 'Sorry' or 'How are you' or 'I missed you'…'Thank God you're alive' seems kind of…I mean, considerin' everything…God, he really is alive, huh?" Joe's voice broke and Hoss reached over automatically to pat him on the back. 

"I jest finished doin' that. If'n yer gonna start now, reckon we should get outta here and let Adam rest."

Joe sniffed. "I'm not," he said fiercely. Hoss chuckled. "I'm not!" he insisted. "I just -breathed in some smoke from that lantern." Hoss pressed his lips together and his shoulders shook again, but not with sobs this time. Joe glared at him and sank deeper in his chair, tucking his chin over the book. He sniffed again and rubbed irritably at his nose with the back of his hand, glaring defiantly at Hoss once more for good measure. The corners of Hoss's mouth turned up slightly and he slung an arm loosely around Joe's shoulders. Joe closed his eyes and slid down a little further in his chair. "Well, I'll tell you this - if he wakes up and catches us all hangin' over his bed like this, you can bet he's gonna have somethin' to say about it." 

Hoss's smile broadened some, but it was gentle. "Yeah." He sighed deeply. "Yeah."

Ben held his tongue. He held no such conviction that things were guaranteed to be so normal, but it eased the tightness in his chest to see his two younger boys look more optimistic. He looked from them to his eldest, suddenly feeling a bit more optimistic himself. Gingerly, he rested his hand lightly on the quilt, just over Adam's heart, watching closely for any reaction. When there was none, he leaned against the headboard and got comfortable. _When he wakes up._ Well, it was a start.

That's how Hop Sing found them some hours later as thin morning light was just starting to spill into the room. He entered with a basin of warm water and a stack of linen, his eyes darting quickly from Joe, sound asleep leaning on Hoss, to Hoss, snoring softly in the chair next to him, to Ben, reading, his free hand still quiet on the covering over Adam's chest. Ben looked up as he entered and followed his eyes from one boy to the other. Their eyes locked, a smile deepening the creases around Ben's, Hop Sing's eyebrows climbing his forehead. "So?" he murmured softly, so as not to wake anyone. "So?"

Ben shifted in his chair, trying to work some of the kinks out of his back. "I didn't have the heart to wake them," he whispered.

Hop Sing nodded briskly. "Bre'fast ready now. I change Missa Adam's bandages. Must change often, docta say."

Ben nodded. "Right. I'll send them down to breakfast and give you a hand."

Hop Sing shook his head emphatically. "You go eat too. I do bandages."

Ben frowned. Even in his weakened state, his first born was a big and formidable man. "If he's going to fight you, I think you'll need my help."

Hop Sing shook his head again. "One betta. You see. You leave me with him - I do."

Ben looked dubiously from Adam to Hop Sing. "I don't think - "

Hop Sing's face tightened mulishly. "Boss see. Much betta."

Ben pressed his lips together. There was a part of him that felt as though he couldn't survive another scene of Adam's distress and suffering…he looked at Adam again, looked back at Hop Sing, sighed heavily. "All right…I'll round up these two. But if you need me, call right away. He could hurt you or hurt himself."

"Hop Sing not let him hurt self. Not let him hurt anybody."

Ben stood up carefully, pressing one hand to the small of his back. "If you say so…" He looked down at Adam once more, the lamp and the faint light of the new day creating strange shadows on his battered face. He took the cloth from the bowl, wrung it out and patted Adam's forehead and cheeks lightly with it once more. Adam shifted away from him, but not violently so. "All right," he sighed, replacing the cloth. "I'll be just downstairs…"

"Eat," suggested Hop Sing sternly. 

Ben nodded listlessly, moved to where Hoss and Joe sat and squeezed Joe's arm lightly. "Joseph. It's time for breakfast." Joe muttered in his sleep and withdrew further into his chair. Ben patted Hoss's knee. "Hoss. It's morning. Hop Sing has breakfast ready." 

Hoss snorted in his sleep and started awake, cracking one eye open. "Whazzat, Pa?"

"It's morning. Breakfast. Help me wake up your brother."

Hoss dug his fists in his eyes, looking around the room and yawning. "Dang. I fell asleep. Hey - Joe - " He shook vigorously at Joe's shoulder. "Wake on up. It's mornin'."

Joe mumbled and curled in the opposite direction. "I'm gettin' up in jus' a minute, Hoss…"

"Better git up now. Breakfast is ready 'an yer gonna have one mean stiff neck."

Joe yawned hugely. "Hm…?" He squinted around through swollen lids. "Oh. Is it my turn to watch?"

"It's yer turn ta eat. Come on…" Hoss grabbed him by the dressing gown collar and hauled him to his feet by standing up himself. 

Joe yawned again. "Huh?"

"C'mon, Shortshanks - yer gonna feel a whole lot better once ya start eatin'." He steered Joe toward the door, still holding onto his collar. 

"Oh." Joe rubbed at his eyes. "Is my turn over?"

"Somethin' like that…" Hoss moved them to the door in tandem, guiding Joe neatly through with the hands of long experience.

Ben watched them go. 

"Say, Hoss? My room is that way…" he heard Joe's voice filter back and almost smiled. He looked again at Adam and the beginnings of his smile faded away. 

"You go eat too," Hop Sing insisted. "I fix here."

Ben nodded reluctantly, slipping through the door with a backward glance. He heard it close firmly behind him. He stood for a moment, listening to the voices of Hoss and Joe floating up to him as they made their sleepy way to the dining room, listening to Hop Sing's hypnotic, sing-song murmurings in Cantonese on the other side of the door. Sounded almost like a chant, he thought vaguely. Or a song. After a moment, he too made his way down the stairs, but he stopped short of the dining room and went outside to the porch instead. The sky was light pink now; the air scattered with the sounds of birds and small creatures starting their day. He stood leaning against the railing as he had the night before, looking at nothing. 

"Mr. Cartwright?" The voice startled him out of his musings and he glanced around in surprise, scratching at the shadow of his beard, suddenly realizing how unkempt he must look. "Mr. Cartwright, I'm right sorry ta disturb you."

Ben blinked to clear his eyes. "Charlie. No, that's all right. What can I do for you?"

Charlie looked acutely uncomfortable. "Well, sir, we all heard as how…" he cleared his throat. "I mean, word is that Adam…" he trailed off, glancing at Ben for help.

"Ah. Yes." He had forgotten that this concerned people besides themselves. "Yes, we found Adam. He's not dead." _How strange that sounded_. "We…brought him home yesterday."

Charlie bobbed his head. "What - I mean, how's he doin'?"

Ben winced. He couldn't even imagine talking to people about what had happened to Adam - he could barely stand to think about it. "He's - well, Paul is optimistic. Thank you for asking."

Charlie nodded again, but he lingered - clearly there was more on his mind. "Mr. Cartwright - " he cleared his throat again and pawed at the ground with his boot toe like a restless steer. "I reckon you ain't had no chance to think on it but…" He peered at Ben from under his hat brim. "That feller that we done buried, down by Mrs. Cartwright…" Ben stared. _Oh, God. He had forgotten all about that. _Somehow, in his mind, that had all disappeared when it had ceased to be Adam_._ Charlie cleared his throat again, more forcefully. "…any idee who he was?"

Ben rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Just one of many problems they still needed to address. Good Lord, would this thing never be over? But he had his son back, surely that was all that really mattered? Surely everything else was manageable? He tried to smile cordially. "No, Charlie, I'm afraid I don't. I'll have to do some asking around, I suppose - see what I can find out."

Charlie nodded solemnly. "I reckon you'll be wantin' him moved."

Ben creased his forehead. He hadn't really considered. But…now that Charlie mentioned it…"I don't mean to be callous, Charlie, but I suppose you're right. I'd be happy to pay for a nice plot for him in town, and to arrange for some sort of marker…hopefully with his name if I can discover what that is."

Charlie shrugged diffidently. "Could see to it." 

Ben felt his shoulders sag in relief. "If you wouldn't mind, I would appreciate it. I know you'd do it as respectfully as possible. If you could arrange with Sylvester, I'll pay for everything and organize a small service once we find out who he is. Or even if we don't."

Charlie nodded, looking more relaxed now that his delicate mission was out in the open. "I'll take a couple of the men, if you've a mind."

"Take whoever you think best. I can't thank you enough for your thoughtfulness, Charlie - it will be a real burden off my mind."

Charlie smiled for the first time in the whole interview. "My pleasure, sir. I know…well, I know it's been kinda rugged hereabouts. Happy to do what I can to help. You give my best to Adam, too."

Ben nodded briefly, surprised by a sudden blurring of his vision. 

Charlie touched his hat to him and turned to go.

"Charlie - " Charlie paused, waiting patiently for him to continue. "If I could impose on you for one more favor?" Charlie pushed out his lip and nodded. "There's a wooden cross - a temporary marker on the grave - with Adam's name on it?"

Charlie jerked his chin in assent. 

"After you dig it up and have everything else settled and taken care of…"

Charlie waited.

Ben stared past him at a long row of pines, his eyes seeing something else.

"Sir?" Charlie prodded gently.

Ben breathed in deeply. "Burn it."


	40. Chapter 40

Ben dipped his pen in the ink well and carefully blotted it, holding it poised over the paper. _Dear Mr. Thorkelson_, he began with a sweeping flourish. It was a few minutes before he realized that he had not written anything further - that, indeed, he could barely remember who Mr. Thorkelson was and what business he wanted with him. Guiltily, he glanced back at the papers scattered by his right hand. There was lots of carefully collected information in those papers - the makings of an excellent business deal. He thought so, anyway. He had read them over half a dozen times and they were as meaningless to him now as they had been the first time.

With an impatient sigh, he heaved himself from his chair and wandered the short distance to the stairs. He had promised himself that he would stay away from there, at least for a little while. Adam's condition was more or less the same, floating in some twilight world out of his father's reach, and hovering over him didn't help - indeed, it possibly made things worse, triggering dark memories whose details he simultaneously longed and dreaded to know. He had been up and down those stairs all day, a nuisance, even to himself, until he had finally sworn he would be sensible about things. Practical.

He leaned against the banister. Still. There was nothing sensible or practical about this situation. And heaven knew he wasn't accomplishing anything down here. And Hop Sing was busy fixing supper, so maybe it would be a good idea if he…? Just for a minute, maybe. He rested his foot on the first tread, thinking back to the early morning.

He had almost finished his breakfast when he had heard the sounds of horse hooves outside. He abandoned his plate and gone to the door to look out, curious. He knew it wasn't Hoss or Joe. There had been a bit of a prolonged discussion over breakfast about getting everyone back to some sort of normal work schedule, and both Hoss and Joe had balked. Not about working, but about spending the day far out on the range. 

Ben had argued at first, but since he had to admit to himself that he wasn't planning on going any further than his desk either, he had eventually given in to Hoss's argument that there was enough blacksmithing to be done to keep them both busy and close at hand. It was true enough, and it would give them some good physical activity to focus on, which had been his principal goal in setting them back to work anyway. He had shaken his head as he'd watched them gather their things and set off for the forge. Well, he had always wanted his boys to be close to each other - too late to complain about it now. 

__

Outside, he saw Roy dismounting and Paul tying his carriage to the hitching rail. 

"You gentlemen must have had a very early start this morning."

Paul yawned as he returned to his carriage and lifted down his bag. "Not me. Haven't been to bed yet. Thought I'd stop before I headed home since it was on my way from the Wetherfords'. How's he doing this morning?"

Ben shrugged. "Hop Sing is changing the bandages." 

Roy took off his hat as he followed them in, strangely subdued. Ben glanced at him, and he managed a tight smile in return. "Have a few things I need ta ask 'em."

"Well, he hasn't been alert enough to talk yet, but we can go upstairs and I'll let Paul decide." Ben started toward the stairs.

Roy glanced at the stairs and hesitated, then nodded somewhat reluctantly and followed. 

"How's Miss Amelia?" Ben asked over his shoulder.

Now it was Paul's turn to hesitate. "She's - well, it's hard to say. Physically, she's fine. Mentally…there are some places further east that are having some amazing successes with problems like hers. I'd like to send her to one. Maybe we can get the funds together if we put the Fairchild place up for sale."

"Where, precisely? How far?"

Paul scratched at his ear. "Well, there's one in Indianapolis which has a reputation for being humane. They focus on health of body and health of mind..."

"Humane," Ben was surprised at how bitter his voice sounded. "The way they were humane to my son." He paused with his hand on Adam's door, his jaw twitching. He took a deep breath. "Indianapolis?"

"That's right. There's one in Michigan, too…"

Ben nodded shortly. "I would be happy to contribute passage for either one of those. One way, of course."

Paul raised his brows slightly, but nodded. "That's very generous."

Ben barked a laugh. "It's nothing of the kind and you know it." He looked at Roy. "Any word on the missing Fairchild boy?"

Roy cleared his throat. "Have a posse out scouring the area. Sent wires first thing this morning with a description. Pretty soon he shouldn't be able to turn around twice anywhere there's folks without bein' spotted."

Ben nodded again. "I - would prefer…" he hesitated, then tried again. "I don't know what people know about this so far? Charlie's already come to me to say he and the hands know Adam is alive, so I assume word's around town, too."

Roy shrugged. "Pretty big news, Ben. Ain't every day one of our leading citizens returns from the dead. Folks were at the wake and the funeral - it's gonna be the center of talk for some time to come."

"I know." Ben pressed one hand protectively on the door in front of him. "But the - details. Nobody has to know those, do they? I can't imagine how much Adam would hate…" he swallowed, continued quietly, "I don't want him tortured all over again. I want it to end. Here and now, as much as possible." He glanced painfully from one old friend to the other.

Paul looked down at his bag. "The details of a patient's history are always confidential, as far as I'm concerned."

Roy folded his arms. "I ain't no blabbermouth, Ben. You know that." He glanced at the door too, glanced away and exhaled slowly. "Y'know…" he seemed to struggle for the words he was looking for. "I knowed all three of those young ones - Amelia and David and Adam - ever since I moved here. Knew 'em as kids. Remember 'em as kids. Oh, I knew David was sullen and liked his bottle as he got older and Miz 'Melia was - well - was a little flighty, maybe, but…" He shook his head, dropping his eyes to study the hat clasped in his hands. His mouth twisted. "Ain't a thing about this whole affair I care ta blab about. Not more than's necessary. Had my way…" he shrugged. 

Ben set his mouth in a grim smile. "Yes. That's how I feel too." He lifted the latch and gestured them ahead of him. Paul entered promptly, Roy seemed to hold back. Ben looked at him questioningly and Roy gave him a guilty, abashed smile and moved reluctantly into the room. Ben left the door open behind him - a lucky thing, since Roy hovered near the opening.

Hop Sing was finishing up his bandaging job and appeared to be unbruised. Ben was tempted to ask him his secret, but decided it was better if he didn't know too many of the details. Paul was busy firing questions at him.

Roy stayed near the door, only half looking at first, then gradually looking more directly. It was a familiar gesture, and Ben tried to remember where he'd seen it before. Oh, yes. Joe. He had done almost the exact same thing. Ben studied Roy more closely. Some of the stiffness seemed to melt from his expression even as he watched him and Ben followed his gaze. 

Adam was restless and flushed again, and you could clearly see the great white swathings of bandages that covered his chest and secured his arm, the mottled array of bruises and drying scabs. Still, Roy looked suddenly more relaxed and natural. Ben opened his mouth to ask about it, suddenly remembered Adam's condition when Roy had last seen him. He winced. Oh, God, of course. 

Roy and Adam had always had a friendship, even when Adam was young. Really, in some ways Roy was almost like a second…instinctively, he reached up and rested a hand on Roy's shoulder. Roy gave him a quick, ruefully appreciative glance in return. 

This wasn't just his pain. No matter how much he hurt, he wasn't the only one hurting. He needed to remember that. Somehow, the thought was even comforting. 

He couldn't exactly remember climbing the stairs, but somehow he was at the top again, his palm resting lightly on the door. Quietly, he pushed it open. He wasn't really sure what he expected to see. Some magical transformation, maybe. Adam, the Adam he knew, back in his bed. Oh, Adam was there all right, but somehow he wasn't - it was more unsettling than Ben knew how to describe. He lingered on the threshold. He had promised himself one quick look…he glanced over his shoulder back down the stairs. Hoss and Joe were still at work in the smithy, Hop Sing was banging pots in the kitchen. He stepped inside and let the door swing to behind him.

Adam was lying very still, his chest rising and falling slowly, the terrible hitch in his breathing that he had found so alarming barely noticeable now. Hop Sing had probably changed the sheets half a dozen times today, and despite the extra work, he seemed pleased about it, claimed it was a sure sign that the drugs were sweating their way out of Adam's system. Ben wished that he could share his optimism.

He approached the side of the bed, looking. Despite the fact that tea colored late afternoon light spilled into the room, the lantern remained lit. Ben was haunted by the idea of Adam finally awakening to find himself still in darkness and had kept it burning all day. Next to it was a small dish of incense, smouldering low, and the sight of it made Ben smile. Maybe these small tokens were doing them more good than they were Adam, but they couldn't hurt. He pulled his rocker close to the bed and sank into it, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed. 

"I thought you were dead, you know," he said conversationally at last. "And yet I didn't, if that makes any sense. So I'm not making excuses for myself. I'm only saying that I thought I had real proof that you were…" his voice failed him and he brushed one hand lightly down the long bump under the covers that represented Adam's arm. It quivered for a moment, but didn't jerk away. He cleared his throat sharply. "I was afraid to believe, but I should have believed anyway. I should. I'm sorry, Adam. 

I honestly don't know what broke my heart more - thinking you were dead, or finding out you were alive all the time, while I…" he rubbed a hand over his eyes and sat very still for a moment, trying to breathe past the steel knot that had tightened around his heart. When he thought he could speak again he managed a faint, sad smile. 

"I don't really know whether I'm longing for you to wake up or dreading it. How do I face you? I failed you. Oh, I know what you'd say, but I did - I know I did." 

Suddenly disturbed by the sight of the bandages, brilliant white in the fading light, he reached out and gingerly tugged the covers upward toward Adam's chin, adjusting them delicately. "And no matter what I do now, it doesn't really change that, does it?" He leaned back in the chair and rocked gently to and fro. His hand hovered over the music box, dropped. Usually in these moments he reached out to Elizabeth, but somehow she seemed remote this time - unreachable. And why not? He had failed her too. She had entrusted him with their son's care and well being and he had failed. 

He let his head drop back against the chair headrest. "Do you remember when you were just a little boy, and it was just the two of us? I've been thinking of that a lot lately somehow - seeing you so clearly. You were such a solemn little boy sometimes," his mouth quirked into a weak, involuntarily smile. "I used to have to leave you every day to work and you always looked so sad to see me go. Oh, I know you meant to be brave, but I could tell." He stopped the rocker, let his hand lie on the quilt near Adam's arm. "I did think about you - wonder what you did to pass the time. Thought about how long the day must seem to a little boy alone. You never complained, though - not that I can remember. You just waited." He tightened his hand in the fabric of the quilt, started the rocker up again, slower this time. 

"It's my turn to wait now, I guess - wait for you to come back to me. So I won't complain either. You take as long as you need, son. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be waiting. I'll be here."


	41. Chapter 41

__

Something was wrong. He was dreaming again and it was a familiar pattern now, sinking into the dream world, convinced he was home, only to awake to…well. It was no wonder that the dreams were getting longer. But this was an odd one - usually he had such clear and vivid pictures - this time there were none. Only sounds. Well, that was okay. Maybe it would last longer this way. 

The sounds were comfortingly familiar - snatches of well loved voices and words and bits of music that had signified comfort for as long as he could remember. He would enjoy them for as long as he could, because eventually they would be replaced by that other sound - the squeak of the ladder rungs.

He tried to shift a little, to relieve some of the stiffness and discomfort, stopped himself just in time. That was a mistake - to draw attention to himself. Better to stay perfectly still - to be forgotten. He was never left alone for long enough as it was. 

At least that sickening swinging motion had stopped, that miserable pull on his arms, stretching them from their sockets. How had it happened that that was finally over? Oh, that was right. The Other David - what was his name? He had cut him down. A large mercy. He twitched his fingers carefully, testing them for feeling, frowned. _Something…was wrong._

He tried to lift his right hand, felt it slide over something smooth and cool, free and independent of its fellow. Hm. A new dream? Maybe. Some of them were so vivid. 

Cautiously, he tried the same with his left. It barely budged, caught and held in some way, pulsing against his chest with a hot, angry pain. He sighed silently. Some new form of torture, no doubt, or the predecessor to it. Well, David could do his worst - at the very least, he'd deny him the satisfaction of reaction. He felt his stomach spin uncertainly within him. Surely he'd already seen David's worst, though…surely it couldn't get any…he pressed his eyes tighter closed, moved his head restlessly before he could stop himself.

"Adam?" 

He stilled abruptly. The voice sounded so soft and familiar, like the memory of something dear, but he would not be fooled into opening his eyes - experience had taught him what lay on the other side of blackness and he was in no hurry to face it again. If he got very good at this, then maybe he could take himself away for longer and longer periods of time. Maybe, eventually, he could stay away all together. 

"Adam, son, can you hear me? It's Pa."

And it would be. For a few clean, clear seconds…then…he turned his head away from the voice. The face and the voice never matched. He wouldn't be fooled into opening his eyes, into plunging through that trap door between the drifting dreams and the waking nightmare. He would hang onto the dream for as long as he possibly could.

There was a quiet sigh, and his breath stopped for a second, an odd pull on his heart. He knew that sigh - had heard it under a hundred different circumstances over the years: at times when he had disappointed, or frustrated, or exasperated, or just plain puzzled, his father. Funny that he should imagine it now…or maybe not. It galvinized him as almost nothing else could, that sound - reminded him of something important: he couldn't drift away after all. The suffering had blotted out almost everything else in his brain, but now he remembered - he wasn't the only one suffering. Back home his family was burying him, mourning him, believing he was dead. He had to get away - to tell them it wasn't true. 

He turned it over slowly in his mind - pictured the distance to the cellar ladder, up the ladder, into the kitchen, to the back door…for a minute his heart shook within him. How could he possibly…? In his current state, how could he manage…? He remembered his last, disastrous effort to escape and his breath caught on a gasp. Even then, he hadn't needed to try the ladder on his own…how could he…? He reached out in his mind, trying to get a sense of the kind of shape his leg was in, couldn't quite suppress a groan at the burst of warning fire from his knee at his small attempt to move it. 

__

He couldn't. He couldn't, he couldn't…something patted at his face and he turned away sharply. Amelia, no doubt. He felt sorry for her, but wouldn't allow her touch him again. The sigh came again, heavier this time, wringing at his heart. He clenched his eyes tighter shut. 

He couldn't…but he had to. Somewhere out there his father was breaking his heart over him, and it wasn't necessary…he had to tell him - to let him know. He had to let them all know. Whatever remaining strength he could find or patch together, he had to gather it, to use it. He had to escape.

"Pa - come on, Pa - you gotta get some sleep."

His heart jumped, knocking high and fast against his breastbone. _Hoss's voice_. It sounded so close - so real. But he wouldn't let himself be fooled again - wouldn't suffer the return of the crushing despair when he opened his eyes to see only the jumping shadows of the root cellar. He almost wished the images would go away - stop distracting him - let him focus on what he needed to do.

"I'm all right, Hoss. I've been dozing. I'd rather be here."

"I know, Pa, but - why don't you go jest lie down fer a bit? I'll sit with 'em. You get some rest. I'll call right off if there's any change."

"Hoss - "

"Pa. It could be days. You gotta sleep sometime. C'mon - any change, I'll get you right away. Promise."

That sigh again. It was all Adam could do to keep from opening his eyes - from reaching out. This one was a terrible dream, sad and confusing - maybe he should just open his eyes after all and end it. But not yet. He could feel figures moving around him - not until he was alone. 

"All right, Hoss." There was the sound of shifting, then a creak and groan of wood that tightened every one of Adam's muscles taut as a bowstring. His heart beat so hard that he wondered if anyone else could hear it too. There was a pause and he almost stopped breathing, aware of the weight of eyes upon him, then heavy footsteps. He ruffled his brows, listening. Footsteps on wood…? That was a first - an odd thing to imagine. Something was definitely wrong_._

Another squeak that squeezed his heart hard against his ribcage, a pause. "I thought you said you'd stay…?"

"Yup, an I will - jest wanna make sure you git to yer bed and don't wind up down on the porch or by the fire. You gotta sleep sometime, Pa." 

There was a short, rumbling laugh in response, and Adam was surprised to feel his eyes fill with sudden moisture. This didn't make any sense - wasn't like the other dreams at all. They had all been memories…this one was…well, maybe he had finally lost his mind after all. Dropped into some other reality. Could you tell if you had lost your mind? How would you know? 

The footsteps faded, and he allowed himself to take a deep breath. He couldn't sense anyone around him - he was finally alone. Now he had to escape - or at least come up with a plan. He carefully peeled his lids apart.

Light was splashed over the walls and he had to squint hard, giving his eyes time to adjust. At least the leaping, ghostly shadows had stopped - someone must have finally trimmed that wick. He closed his eyes again, opened them more carefully and looked around. For a second the room blurred and spun around him, and he had to press them hastily shut again. _Oh. God._

He breathed carefully, concentrating on drawing air slowly in and out of his lungs. _God, oh, God. He couldn't take much more of this._ The air felt hot and oppressive, pushing in upon him, an upside down change from the enervating cold he had come to expect. He ran his free hand over his face, looked at it. Someone had done a halfway decent bandaging job on him - the other David or Amelia, probably. 

Cautiously, he raised his eyes again and looked around him. The walls wavered. _The image was the same._ _His room. _That was a new one. He had pictured the great room, the dining room, all kinds of things, but never here. The sense of nostalgia and loss was so sharp and deep that he covered his eyes with his hand again and took another careful breath. All right. He couldn't let this distract him - fool him. He had something he had to do, and the sooner he started, the better. He could never be sure how long they would actually leave him alone. He looked around again, suddenly disoriented. It all looked so real. Where would the ladder be…? He closed his eyes, picturing the layout of the root cellar in his head. That was better, probably - with his eyes closed. He could clearly picture what was really there, avoid being confused by what wasn't - what he just wished was. He drew a hand across his forehead again. God, it was so hot…when did it get so hot…?

He leaned carefully on his right arm to push himself up, dropped back, crying out before he could stop himself, curling his arm in to his chest. That hurt…that hurt…far and deep into his back…All right, his arms weren't going to be much good to him for a while - he should have realized that, should have been prepared…

His breaths were short and jerky now, grabbing to get the pain under control. _You don't have time for this! _The words were screaming in his brain. Trying to ignore the ribbons of fire running up and down his shoulders, he carefully pushed himself into sitting position, using his good leg instead, then froze. 

Footsteps - returning. He heard them stop nearby, waited. There was a faint squeaking, not quite like the ladder rungs, but he was too tired to try and figure out why. His worlds were truly overlapping now - his mind seemed to be disintegrating as quickly as his body, undermining him just as badly - he had to escape now, while he had the chance, while he was still sane enough to understand the necessity. The footsteps stilled for a minute, and he made out a muffled curse before they seemed to move rapidly in his direction. Grappling for every ounce of strength he could find, he waited, waited until they seemed close - then flung himself at them with all his might.


	42. Chapter 42

"Adam! Adam, damn it, Adam yer gonna hurt yerself! Come on, Adam, settle down - I don't wanna havta - I don't wanna havta do what I done earlier - "

Adam pushed with everything he had in him, which, he admitted ruefully to himself, wasn't a whole lot. He shoved hard against the wall of flesh and blood in front of him with his free arm, felt a branding iron skewer his right shoulder blade. Gagging on the pain, he collapsed, weak and helpless and enraged at his helplessness. He wouldn't give up like this, he wouldn't - he pushed again, feebly, this time choked on a cry as the fire razored its way down his back and up his neck and into his chest. He tried to make a fist against it, but his mutinous arm just dropped, dangling uselessly. He tried to push away with his forehead instead, but his breath had been snatched from him somehow and he couldn't seem to get it back. Gulping for it, he found himself pressed against something solid and soft, that smelled like…sucking in long breaths, he couldn't help but notice that it smelled like…Hop Sing's laundry soap. Now he really was crazy.

Hot moisture stung at his eyelids, and he shredded his lip with his teeth. No. No. He would _not_ give in. As long as he could fight, he would…there was a steady, resonant thumping under his ear and what frightened him even more was that he found it comforting. His mind seemed to be dangling by a thread, slewing from sanity back to insanity without warning, and he had to hold on, to keep a grip on the sanity side for as long as he could. He struggled.

"Sh, sh - now, c'mon, Adam. Settle down. It's only me. You know ol' Hoss, don't ya? It's jest me."

Oh, God. It _did_ sound like Hoss - and the thought of his brain skewing David Fairchild until he appeared to be his brother Hoss made his stomach roil. He tried to push away again, but whatever strength he'd thought he had seemed to have abandoned him. Furious, gritting his teeth until they ached, he forced himself to slow down, calm down, take a breath and get himself in hand. _Gather a little strength. Then you can fight._

The smell of laundry soap was persistent, pervasive, achingly familiar, and he became aware of other homey smells…a faint whiff of smoke from a pine log fire, the lingering scent of fresh piney air, and, underneath it, a reminiscent remnant of what seemed to be one of Hop Sing's pork dinners. He almost smiled, then frowned. 

__

That's what was wrong. The smells. 

In all his other wanderings, he had never quite lost touch with the damp earth smells of the root cellar, overlaid with the scents of onion and apple and smoked meat. In even the best of his visions they had lingered there, mocking him faintly. So what did this mean?

"That's better, now. Jest take it easy, Adam. You want some water er somethin'?"

__

Adam. Fairchild never called him Adam - never called him anything - maybe Cartwright, now and then. Amelia called him Adam, of course…was he finally, truly mad? Could mad people wonder about being mad? Otherwise, what…? He felt his breaths slow to panting gasps. If he actually looked, what would he see? _You can't count on that, Adam,_ he scolded himself sternly. _You know you can't. It doesn't mean anything. _

He made his right arm work for him, just a little bit, managed to lift it and snatch at something - a handful of fabric - tried to push again. He didn't manage to move himself much, but he felt a large, flat hand splay across his back, rubbing there lightly. He jumped automatically, his muscles knotting, but that touch was different, so different from Amelia's crawling hands or David's brutal blows, that he was still for a minute, frozen, trying to read it better, to make himself understand. The voice was different too, but so familiar – how many times had he heard that same voice, that same tone, gentling a frightened animal? He was trembling so hard now that it made his head ache, the one hand still clinging mindlessly to that clutch of fabric. Dampness coated his skin.

"C'mon. I'm gonna git you back in bed – yer about freezin'. Jest hope you didn't hurt nothin' worse in that tumble. Let me jest get you all settled down again. You feelin' better now? You know where you are?"

__

No. Everything seemed wrong and he couldn't get his mind around what it meant. Different smells. Different sounds. Different light. He opened his eyes again tentatively. His room was still there. The figure that sounded like Hoss – that _felt_ like Hoss – was still there. Before he could stop himself, he vomited. And vomited.

That blotted out everything, wringing his insides and pounding at his temples. Something held his head and the voice continued throughout, soothing and rhythmic. It reminded him of another voice, one that had soothed him when he was sick once, and he kept his eyes closed and tried to reach for it. Finally he sagged, exhausted and depleted. Something was pushed against his mouth and he took a mouthful before he could think about it.

"Rinse," the voice advised. 

Obediently, he did. Something else was dabbing at his face and he wanted to push it away, but that would have meant letting go of his handful of fabric, and somehow he just couldn't, so he turned his head weakly away instead. 

"Yeah, that's it. All right. You ready to get back in bed?"

The question struck him as so odd that, without really meaning to, he opened his eyes. The light danced and wavered. A round globe dandled before him, slid into focus, then out again. _So. That was new too_. Usually his imaginings were nice and crisp and clear…he narrowed his eyes. The globe stayed, sharpening to show blunt features, a tightened mouth, watchful, worried eyes. He let his head fall back, studying it curiously. He cleared his throat past the sour burning that lingered there.

"Hoss," he rasped.

"Yeah, well, ain't nobody else I know of got this ugly mug. C'mon, let's get you back in bed afore you freeze."

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the floating face, working out a puzzle. 

The face sighed a gusty sigh. "Dang it, if you ain't - hold on, hold on…" The face disappeared and he let his eyes slide speculatively along the wall, over the door, lingering thoughtfully on one of the pictures. "Lean forward fer a minute, if you kin - here, let me help…" He wasn't really paying attention to the hands that shifted him forward, or the warm weight that bundled around his shoulders, but when something tried to loosen the grip he maintained on his bit of fabric, he looked down. "Let me jest - I jest wanna tuck this in there - " He hung on tenaciously. The hefty sigh again. "Adam, dadblame it, if you ain't the most stubborn critter I ever done met in all my born days - and that's goin' some." He lifted his head again, let it fall back against the support behind him, watched the face, studying the familiar planes of the forehead and nose and mouth and jaw. "Now, if you won't get back in bed, at least set here and stay warm while I go fetch Pa."

His heart started up that quick-time timpani again, beating a rapid quiver in his throat, so hard that he wondered if it actually showed from the outside. He tightened his fragile hold on his cloth.

Another sigh. If his insides hadn't been so icy and wavering, it might have made him smile. "Look, I'm jest gonna be down the hall, jest fer a second – then I'll be right back, promise. I'll bring Pa."

He swallowed slowly. He thought he nodded, but his real feelings must have shown, because the globe remained, suspended in some odd way before him. 

"Adam, I promised Pa I'd fetch him the very second you came round. You know what he's gonna…?" The voice faltered to an uncomfortable, uncertain stop. "Look," it tried again. "At least let me get rid of that basin. That smell can't be…" He watched quietly, measuringly, waiting for the globe to dissolve and disappear. There was low, muttered cursing instead. "Eh, dang. Reckon it could wait. An Pa could use the sleep anyway."

The globe did vanish this time, briefly, but he felt a broad, lumbering weight settle next to him instead, not quite touching, moving carefully so that his precarious grasp of his cloth didn't break. A solid, sturdy band of warmth stretched out behind him – not too close – just close enough. He turned his head slightly without lifting it so that he could look, carefully cataloging the globe's features, then the short, strong neck, and the wide, deep chest. He turned forward again, released his breath for the first time in…how long? He felt his heart catch at a more normal rhythm. 

"Guess I shoulda expected it," the voice sounded matter of fact. "You know, even when they said you was dead an' all, I half expected you ta push yer way right outta that coffin, jest ta show 'em, ta show ya hadn't made up yer mind yet ta die and so you wouldn't be goin' no place. An' you call me Missouri mule."

Adam didn't move, but the beat in his throat started up again, harder this time. 

"Whole time, at the funeral, when folks was sayin' all those nice things, I kep' thinkin' about the kinda jokes you'd make about it – kep' half listenin' fer 'em. Almost laughed, onct, thinkin' about it. Stopped myself, on accounta I didn't want folks ta get the wrong idee. Didn't wanna hurt Pa any more than he was hurt already. Didn't think anybody'd unnerstand. I mean, you woulda, but…" There was a tense silence. The voice, when it continued, shook, despite its resolute tone. 

"Was a mighty bad day, Adam. Mighty bad. Don't think I can rightly ever make you unnerstand how bad it was. Then when Miz Amelia showed up…"

Adam stared ahead, his mind racing, the pulse in his throat almost choking him. He hadn't known this. Couldn't even imagine it, because he hadn't known anything about it. This wasn't a memory, and it wasn't invention. _So that must mean_…he fixed his gaze on the doorframe, tracing it with his eyes over and over. …_That could only mean one thing_. 

He tested sensations, the feel of the chill wooden floor beneath him, the weight and heft of the quilt around his shoulders. He dropped his eyes to the quilt – it was an elaborate one, the product of Marie's delicate needle, stuffed with carefully collected goose down. Usually it resided in his father's room…he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, noticed again the sweet smell of burning pine logs, the remaining hints of cooked food, the smell of soap and sweat and hay and animals that emanated from his companion, none of which quite covered the faint odor of his previous bout with illness. Surely not the kind of thing somebody would bother to imagine. He opened his eyes again, cautiously sending them around the room, noting things, afraid to be wrong. His gaze reached the night table and everything stopped. 

The book he'd been reading was there. His mother's miniature was there. A glass of water. But something was missing, something that he never, ever would have eliminated from his imaginings. The music box. Nowhere in sight. 

He squeezed his eyes shut again against a sudden blur of wetness. When he could push words past the tightness in his throat he barely whispered, "I made it, didn't I?"

There was a puzzled silence. "What's that you say, Adam?"

He hadn't really expected him to understand, but he repeated it anyway, something hard and taut uncoiling slowly inside him, giving him room to breathe. "I made it. I'm home." 

"Course you are, Adam. Sure you are."

He blinked damply at the door again, then the night table, then carefully marked the shaving stand and wardrobe. The desk he couldn't see without getting up to turn around, but somehow he knew it was just where it was supposed to be. 

He let his eyes slide closed again, breathing in and out, oxygen for the first time in ages seeming to fill his lungs and reach all the way to his extremities. Slowly, slowly, he marshaled the implications. _Well, well, well_. He laughed softly, felt Hoss's concerned gaze rest on him.

"Adam? You okay?"

Okay? Okay didn't begin to describe it. He was alive. He had lasted. He had made it home. 

He breathed in again, carefully, released it on another labored near-laugh. 

__

Home. He was home. The faintest of smiles pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

__

Take that, you worthless son of a bitch. 


	43. Chapter 43

Adam felt something blotting at his lip and opened his eyes again. 

"You done split it again," Hoss explained. "Musta hit it when you fell."

Adam frowned, then winced: a memory picture flashed behind his eyes. "Oh," he said slowly, closing his eyes again to shut the picture out. "I remember." Once the Pandora's box of memories was sprung, other pictures leapt out and he shifted restlessly, trying to sit up straight, opening his eyes again and taking careful note of the room. _Still there_. "Where are the Fairchilds?" The question seemed suddenly urgent. Hoss's hesitation stretched and Adam turned his head, trying to catch his eyes. "Hoss…?"

Hoss thrust out his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth. "Well…" he studied Adam, watching him. "Miz Amelia's with Doc. He's sending her away someplace - some hospital er somethin' - Michigan, I think. Thinks it'll do her some good, maybe. Says she's got a sickness in her mind. Pa's payin'."

Adam frowned. "Pa? I don't - "

"It's fer, Adam. Why do ya think? Reckon he'd pay to send her to Timbuktu, if he thought he could get away with it. Speakin' fer myself, I'd like ta send her ta perdition and have done with it."

Adam didn't smile. "What about…?" His eyes sought out the doorway again, traced it reassuringly, flitted to the shaving stand, the night table.

Hoss cleared his throat. "Well, one of em's dead…"

"Dead," Adam repeated, running his tongue over the gash in his lip, tasting the blood there. "Which one?"

Hoss grimaced. "Don't rightly know. Amelia sure cain't tell us and nobody else kin tell'em apart." 

Adam glanced again at Marie's quilt, back at the door. "What happened?"

Hoss sighed gustily. "Don't rightly know. They had a tussle - gun went off - one of 'em got shot, other one run off. The one was dead afore we even got to 'em - shot clean through the back."

"The back!?" Adam's tone was sharp enough to make Hoss widen his eyes questioningly at him. 

"Yup. They were fightin'…what?" He studied Adam's profile, then reached over to fold the quilt more securely around his neck. "C'mon now, you stay with me, brother - what's on yer mind?"

Adam swallowed, his eyes watching something only he could see. "I need to see Roy," he said finally, breathlessly abrupt. "Has Roy been here?"

"'Course he's been here - both as a friend and as a sheriff. Whattya think?"

Adam jerked a nod. "I need to talk to him. Will you ask him to come see me?"

"'Course I will, onct it's daylight, if'n you don't go gettin' yerself all worked up. Ain't nothin' that cain't wait til mornin'."

"Where's Joe?"

"Joe?" Hoss shook his head, wishing he could see whatever it was Adam was looking at, or at least follow his jumping train of thought. "He's asleep, o' course. Adam, it's the middle of the night."

Adam eyed him painfully. "You're sure?"

"'Course I'm sure," Hoss repeated patiently. "He's in bed - jest like you should be."

Adam released his breath slowly, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. "Good. That's good." He opened them suddenly. "And you said Pa…?"

"Is in his bed. Asleep, or he'd be pushin' in that door right now, I'm bettin'. An' he's gonna take a good strip outta my hide fer not wakin' him up when you came round, too, so if ya need somethin' ta think about, you kin be thinkin' up a good cover story fer me." Adam almost smiled. "So, how about you let me help ya back inta bed?"

Adam shook his head slightly.

Hoss scanned his face again, then nodded unhappily. "Yeah, all right. At least let me stick somethin' under yer knee, then - yer supposed ta keep it raised up."

Adam glanced questioningly at the sight of the right leg thrust straight out in front of him, heavily braced and bandaged, and another quick burst of memory danced in front of him. He closed his eyes again to escape it. "God," he breathed.

Suddenly he was aware that he hurt everywhere, that he was bobbing in a sea of pain and that every pain had a corresponding picture or sound or…he closed his eyes tighter as a slick chill of sweat sprang out all over his skin. 

"Hoss?" he managed in a small voice. "I - think I'm going to be sick again."

*

__

Pa. 

Ben sat up straight in bed and opened his eyes. The darkness around him was still and silent except for the thump of his heart. He had no idea what could have awakened him, but instinctively his hand went to his night table, curled around the music box sitting there. Without a conscious thought, he threw back the covers and stood. 

His dressing gown was tossed over the foot of the bed, and he shrugged into it, still grasping the small box. _Pa, I was waiting…?_ Two strides took him across the room and to the door.

Usually, he stopped at each door to look in on each boy - his guilty secret; they were adults, after all - but this time he didn't even slow down. He didn't pause until he got to the furthest door, turned the knob without hesitation and pushed it inward. It swung on noiseless hinges. 

He wasn't sure exactly what he had expected to see. When he had believed Adam dead, every time he'd entered there he had still somehow still expected to find him in his bed, sleeping peacefully. Perversely, once they had brought Adam home, he'd been constantly poised to find that it had all been a dream - to open the door on an empty room. Now he had no idea what to make of the tableau before him. 

Both his older boys seemed to be sitting on the floor, side by side, leaning against the bed fast asleep, listing gently toward each other. One of Hoss's arms was draped along the bed behind Adam in a protective arch, and his soft snuffling snores filled the room. A bitter, acrid odor hung in the air, not quite covered by the tang of incense and the whiff of pine smoke. For a long moment Ben wondered if he were dreaming again - one of those middle-of-the-night dreams where everything was familiar but nothing made sense. He lowered himself into a crouch. The cold floor seemed real enough under his feet. He rubbed at his chest to still the traitorous hammering of his heart. 

"Hoss."

Hoss's face was relaxed and peaceful in slumber and he realized with a pang how long it had been since he had seen it that way. Maybe he should just let him sleep. He switched his eyes to Adam, more tentatively. _Pa, I was waiting for you…where…?_

He drew a deep breath._ I was looking, son - every night, in my heart. I swear it. In my heart, I never gave up - even when I thought I had._ He lifted a hand; it fluttered over the dark head, dropped without touching. 

__

The gravesite by the lake might suggest otherwise, of course. The floor felt like ice under his thinly clad feet and he shivered.

"Hoss." 

He should let him sleep. He should let them both sleep, but they should be in bed, not on the cold floor. What on earth had gotten them there, anyway? He saw Adam shift in his sleep, his brow furrowed. Dreaming. And probably not about anything pleasant. _Tell me about what happened, son. Tell me how I can help. Tell me how to get us past this and to the other side - how to start you healing. Not on the outside, that's just a matter of time, but on the inside. How do we even begin to make that better? _He rubbed his hands over his face. 

"Hoss," he repeated more insistently, tapping him lightly on the knee. He took another deep breath. "Adam."

Adam frowned in his sleep and shifted. Hoss stirred too, then came alive, like a waking mountain. He started to stretch, then stopped himself, narrowing his eyes to slits. "Pa?"

"What's he doing on the floor?" The hissed words sprang out of Ben before he could stop them. Good idea, he mocked himself. Ask about the irrelevant things. Focus on that and maybe you can keep your mind off of your real questions - the ones with no answers. 

Hoss screwed up his face. "Oh." He glanced to his left, checked that the quilt had stayed in place, then rubbed at his eyes with the hand that wasn't stretched out behind Adam. "Sorta - threw hisself at me, took a tumble. Weren't hurt," he added hastily at the expression on Ben's face. "I been tryin' ta get'em back there, but he seems ta think he's keepin' guard er somethin'."

Ben winced. _Keeping guard against…?_ "Well, it's freezing. Hasn't he been cold enough?"

Hoss yawned. "That's why I got the quilt," he pointed out reasonably.

Ben reached out automatically to fuss with the quilt, pulled his hand back. "I see." He resisted the urge to check for fever, to touch the scuffed bruise high on one cheek. "Did he wake up?"

Hoss looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. He woke some."

Ben's stomach twitched with a mixed thrust of relief and unease. "Did he - seem to know you?" 

Hoss ducked his head in a nod. "Seemed to. Talked a bit."

Ben swallowed a combination of hope and bitter disappointment. The two feelings fought uncertainly in his belly. "You said you'd wake me - "

Hoss moved his hand to his forehead to rub there instead. "I know, but Pa… He - " 

He gestured toward his long sleeved undershirt, and Ben finally noticed the hand wound tightly in the fabric on one side of the chest. Even in rest, the grip didn't relax. His throat swelled and he looked away. When he was a baby, Adam used to do that to him sometimes - as though he was trying to keep track of him, even in his sleep. Not this time, of course. Because he hadn't been there. Hoss had. _Tell me that it's all over. Tell me that you forgive me. _"He needs to be in bed." His voice came out sounding gruff.

"Well, then I guess we either gotta cut this thing off'n me, er I'm going with'em."

Ben looked startled, then almost smiled. "All right. I see your point. I'll - " the words died in his mouth and he froze.

He was watching set of dark lashes flicker, then lift quizzically in a parchment white face, rolling upward over a pair of wide hazel eyes. 

__

Those eyes. His own eyes flickered away for a moment, suddenly unready. When had he thought he'd ever see them again? And what would he see there now? 

He forced himself to meet them, searching, felt his own eyes start to crinkle and moisten at the corners, held the murky gaze steadily. 

He was wrong. Some things didn't change - not really - not in any way that mattered. _Welcome home, son. Oh, God, welcome home._

The hazel eyes blinked, then squinted, trying to bring him into focus.

His smile deepened. "Now, what on earth are you doing on the cold floor?" he asked huskily. He stayed still, as if he was facing a wild animal that might startle. He watched the Adam's apple bob in the still throat. Impulsively, he reached out and ran a thumb down the cheek, cupped it. 

It jerked abruptly under his touch. The eyes looked shocked at the reaction, then contrite, begged for understanding.

Ben kept his gaze and gave a small shrug, smiling a slight, rueful smile. "Let's get you back into bed. I'm not brave enough to face the scolding I'll get from Hop Sing if he finds us like this." 

Ben didn't wait for permission. He shuffled one arm around Adam's back, carefully trying to avoid the bandages and where he remembered the worst of the bruises and cuts being located. Adam shifted and he continued calmly, "Now, don't try and help us - we'll make out just fine without it." 

He winced in sympathy as his hand brushed one shoulder blade and he felt Adam shudder. "Sorry." 

Adam didn't ease his deathgrip on Hoss's undershirt and he continued, to distract him, "I'm afraid you have a huge black bruise over each shoulder blade. Paul says it's because your arms were literally being pulled right - " His voice cracked and he stopped. His arms enveloped the figure he was supporting: impulsively, protectively. He felt Adam jerk again but he didn't let him go, and after a second he seemed to relax a little against him, his head dropping wearily until it actually came to rest on his shoulder. Ben closed his eyes. It reminded him so much of the little boy he had held once upon a time, of the way he would droop against him at the end of the day, when exhaustion would finally triumph over stubbornness. He let one palm brush lightly over his hair, the back of his neck. His breath heaved in his chest. 

__

He had his son back. He did, truly, and for the first time he believed it. Of all the graves and all the losses in his past, this one would not be added. He had a different ending this time - not exactly happy, but not tragic. Quiet, tempered with sorrow. 

"You're going to be fine," he whispered with fierce conviction somewhere around his ear. "Everything's going to be fine." 

He could have sat forever holding his son, but he felt Adam's skin jump again under his hand and gently released him back against the bed. "But you need your rest." He adjusted the comforter meticulously, saw Adam was watching his face, a small crease pinching his brows together. He studied his expression, trying to read it, smiled faintly. "What, are you worried about me?" He shook his head, patted the quilt. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." 

Adam coughed, cleared his throat. "I - tried - "

Ben rested his elbows on his knees. "Tried what?"

Adam held his eyes. "To - get home…to - tell you…"

"Well. You are home."

Adam closed his eyes, gave a barely perceptible nod.

Ben finally remembered what he was still clutching in his one hand and uncurled his palm. "I - borrowed this while you were - . I borrowed this. Thought you might like it back." He turned the key on the bottom and lifted the lid. The little melody started haltingly, then picked up pace. 

Adam opened his eyes. Ben wasn't sure how to read what he saw there, but it scorched a ragged scar across his heart. How could he offer comfort? The usual ways seemed to do more harm than good. His hands felt large and clumsy, useless blocks at the end of his arms. "It's going to be all right." _And other stupid, useless promises._ "Everything will be fine. It just takes time. Now. Will you let us help you back into bed?"

For a moment, he saw the hand tighten convulsively in the folds of Hoss's shirt. Then Adam looked at him directly, his gaze burning. 

"Pa. I need to talk to Roy."


	44. Chapter 44

The smell of pine. The smell of bacon. The smell of pine smoke…and something else…coffee…? His eyelids quivered in response, but he kept them closed, just in case. 

There were sounds this time, too. Birdsong. A clattering of pans, faint and far away. A door opening and closing. Under it all, he kept waiting - waiting for that other sound. He strained his ears, sorting among the sounds for it - nothing. That faint, distinctive squeaking was indiscernible. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. 

The room swam as things seemed wont to do these days, shivering and indistinct, then it sharpened and settled. The window was opened slightly, cracked to allow a faint breeze to enter. He inhaled delicately. When was the last time he'd smelled fresh air? The shutters and curtains were open too, and he could just make out a faint smudge of pink, stretching across the sky. The sun was just beginning to bleach it at the corners. 

__

Sun. Sky. Sunrise. Well, old friends. I missed you. He studied them quietly, trying to absorb them. Abruptly, a dark blot swamped them - damp, revolving earthen walls, the groaning echo of a strained rope pulled against metal. He slammed his eyes shut and jerked his head away. 

__

Oh, God. It wasn't real. Well, one of them wasn't… The pine smoke. Hadn't he decided that meant...? A cold wave of sickness washed over him. He reached up to rub the slick of sweat from his face, scrub the dark visions from his eyes, noticed he was clasping something in his hand. A soft bundle of cloth…He slit his eyes to study it, gave a short, faint laugh before he could stop himself. Oh, wonderful. What the hell was he turning into?

The resulting sigh came straight from the soles of his feet and he pressed his face into the cloth to blot it. Hoss wouldn't be wanting it back anyway. He let his hand drop, opening and closing the palm to try and lessen the ache that stretched all the way up his arm and settled, like a crouching weight, somewhere in his back. The motion of his hand caused a warning tingle through his wrist and he stopped, staring at it. A heavy white bandage shrouded the damage there and wrapped around his hand to keep it in place, so he couldn't see much. He could sense his other hand, mummified by bandages and held tight against his chest, and for a second he could feel again the stab of the hook as it thrust into the heel of it and tore through the flesh, the warm splatter of his own blood on his face, and he had to close his eyes and swallow repeatedly. He re-opened his eyes urgently, began his meticulous visual inventory: Dresser. Shaving stand. Door. Everything there, everything fine…Night table…oh. 

He studied the figure sleeping in the rocker for a long moment, then closed his eyes again. _Pull yourself_ _together, Adam - you aren't the only one who was hurt. Put it behind you. _

He grit his teeth. _Easier said_. 

He tried to pull himself up. It would be better if he could get up - move around - look at things…riding would be perfect. A good, thundering gallop, one that would blow his thoughts right out of his brain and sweat the memories right out of his soul…his knee gave him a warning throb and he was still again. 

__

Right. Riding was out of the question for a while. In fact, so was walking. He twitched the knee cautiously, winced. _Standing, as a matter of fact, wasn't looking too good_. Well, what was the difference, really? He was only kidding himself. There was no riding away from what was inside your head. 

Still. If he could just get up…look at things…he moved tentatively, tried to pull himself up - was surprised when the room gave a sudden dip. _Hm. All right, then. Bad idea_. With only one good leg and one not-very-good arm, chances were that he'd just end up on the floor again. And whoever had gotten him back into bed last night probably didn't need to make a habit of it. 

He looked around the room. What he needed was something to think about - something _else_ to think about - something other the black shadows that hovered just at the edge of consciousness, waiting to rush in the second he let his guard down.

His eyes rested on Lord Byron's _Don Juan_, lying open face down on the night table. There was an idea. He knew a lot of poetry by heart - had taken to memorizing it at an early age, so that he could take it with him always, long after he'd returned the actual books that he could rarely afford to keep. 

Let's see how many he could remember. Byron…hm…_She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies_…he felt muscles he hadn't even been aware of clenching relax slightly…_and all that's best of dark and light _- a burgeoning image of ghostly, leaping light and flickering shadows on earthen walls rose suddenly and unexpectedly before him and he stopped, frozen. 

__

Damn. Bad choice. He pressed a hand over his eyes, breathing carefully, counting slowly, until the dark vision retreated again. All right. Something else, then. Wordsworth, maybe - always innocent, faintly innocuous…_My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky. So was it when my life began, so is it now I am a man, so shall it be when I grow old, or let me _- he slammed to an abrupt halt. 

__

Well. Maybe this was a bad idea. Something else, then. 

He glanced around, anxious, paused when he saw the music box again. He stretched his arm experimentally, managed to hook a fingertip under the edge of the lid and flipped it up. The music was slow, as though the box needed to be rewound, and he almost smiled. _Like me. _He settled back and closed his eyes.

Inger had let him play with the music box once when he was sick: it was almost his first memory of her. About the time Inger had appeared in his life, he had been tenaciously trying to work out the mystery of the woman who had originally owned that box - a curiosity only deepened by his father's reluctance to have the topic broached - so he took every opportunity to look at and handle her few remaining possessions, to try to imagine what she must have been like. Somehow, Inger letting him play with the box, the little tune sounding, and the quest to change his mother from a shadowy image to a real person, had all become inextricably intertwined - his mother, the music box, Inger. He had been years untangling the threads and filing them each in their proper places. Even now, he wasn't sure he had entirely succeeded. Or even wanted to. He did smile this time, wincing absent-mindedly at the painful tug the smile made on his split lip. 

Either way, the box had always signified comfort to him - warmth, safety. Something important lost from his life, but eventually reclaimed, though in an altered state. The smile changed to a soundless sigh. He could use a little of that right now. The halting music grew slower and slower, picking through a note at a time. He'd have to enjoy it while he could - he wasn't kidding himself that he had the dexterity necessary to rewind it. 

He glanced curiously at his right hand again, felt the heat simmering there, the deep-seated throb that seemed to keep time with the music. It crossed his mind to wonder what things looked like under the pristine wrappings. He could remember vividly - too vividly - what it had felt like, but he had never actually gotten a look at it. He opened and closed his hand again, slowly, frowning at the weakness and the prickle of nerve endings firing up and down his forearm. Well, it would heal, of course. Wouldn't it? Nothing permanent? His eyes fell on the guitar leaning in the corner. You needed a certain amount of finger agility to play that. Maybe now…something cold slipped up his spine. 

…_Or maybe not. _

Everything he had loved and counted on his whole life seemed suddenly to have turned on him - showing a surprising, dark underbelly. Abruptly, he flailed out with his free hand for the music box and slapped the lid shut.

The figure dozing in the rocker jerked and snorted in his sleep, stirred. Adam made a face, _Whoops_, then relaxed back thoughtfully, watching as his father shook himself awake. Ben's eyes popped open and turned toward him immediately.

Adam met his eyes with an apologetic smile. All right, he was wrong - not everything he had loved and counted on his whole life had turned on him - not the most important things. "Sorry," he croaked, frowning at how faint his voice sounded. 

"I hadn't intended to fall asleep at all," Ben glanced at Adam's hand, still resting on the music box lid. "Did you want that? I could rewind it." He lifted Adam's hand to reach for the box and paused, pressing one finger after another. 

Adam automatically started to pull his hand away, ground his teeth together to resist the impulse. "What are you doing?" he asked instead, torn between discomfort and amusement. 

"Oh." Ben smiled. "Paul asked us to check your fingers regularly to see if they were warm. If they're cold it signifies - I don't know. Bad things, I suppose. They are warm," he assured, watching Adam's face. "A little too warm, actually -" He moved the hand to rest it against Adam's cheek, concentrating. Adam felt his skin ripple in alarm, made an impatient face at the response. Would he ever be able to respond normally to someone touching him again? 

Ben didn't seem to notice. "I think your temperature is down some, though. Paul is stopping by this morning - he should be able to tell us better."

That brought some of the previous night back and Adam felt his heart bump in his chest. "What about Roy? Is he coming?"

Ben gave him a piercing look. "Hoss was going to send a man to town with a message for him. I'm sure he'll be by when he's free. What exactly is so important about seeing Roy?" 

"I - just -" Adam dropped his eyes to Marie's quilt, absently tracing the embroidery with his fingers. He had always loved that quilt. Marie had had a way of making everything around her a little more beautiful. "I thought he'd have some questions for me."

"Um hm. And you have some questions for him?"

Adam glanced at him with rueful appreciation. "I guess I do."

"Well, we'll let Paul decide who you can see and for how long. He may have some ideas of his own about what you're up for." He finished rewinding the music box and set it back on the table, lifting the lid. 

Adam tried not to look uncomfortable as the tinny melody started up. "I'm sorry if I woke you up," he said, to cover his feelings. "I hope you weren't there all night?"

"You know I wasn't. I wasn't here the first time you woke up."

Adam frowned at his tone, tried to read his face. "What happened and when really isn't all that clear to me, Pa." he admitted at last.

Ben's expression changed. He reached over to clasp his shoulder, remembered in time and pulled the hand back to rub his own face instead. After a second, he nodded. "How do you feel? Can I get you anything?"

About a hundred things rushed to Adam's mind, but since most of them were out of the question, he eventually just shook his head. An awkward silence hovered. "Where are Hoss and Joe?" he finally burst out, to cover it.

Ben glanced toward the window, checked the sky. "Working, by now, I hope. Did you need to - ?"

"No." Adam could hear that he'd answered too quickly, closed his eyes, suddenly tired. He heard the rocker start into motion. The groan of the runners against the wood of the floor was evocative of too many other remembered sounds and he opened his eyes again, desperately retracing the borders of the room. The tinkling tones of the music box sawed at his nerves and, without thinking, he reached out and slapped the lid shut again. 

Ben jumped from the rocker as though he'd been shot. "Don't!"

Adam froze with his hand on the music box lid. They stared at each other. 

Ben looked away first, lifting Adam's hand carefully from the music box again and picking up the little piece of porcelain, turning it over and over between his palms. 

Adam wondered for one wild second if his father was going to forbid him to play with it, just as he had that day when he had been five years old and sick and Inger had given it to him to look at. Inger had been the first person he had ever met who was patently unintimidated by his father: she had laughed at his scowls and teased at his moods and yelled back louder when he yelled. Suddenly, he missed her as badly as he had when he was six and realized that she was really gone from his life for good, never to return. He dropped his hand like a chastised child, picking self consciously at the bandages. 

Ben reseated himself heavily in the rocker, still studying the box. Adam tried to ignore the creak and groan of the old chair in motion, tried to think about something else. He was focusing so hard on hearing everything but the chair that he almost missed the low rumble of his father's voice. 

"I don't think I ever told you -" Ben paused to clear his throat. "Your mother. I don't think I ever mentioned…" He sounded so embarrassed that Adam turned his head to look at him. "When she died. I don't think I ever told you that she was holding this when she died." 

Adam blinked slowly. "No," he said at last. 

Ben nodded, his eyes tracing the little cherubs on the lid. "She, uh - it was playing - it needed rewinding. She reached for it and - well, the lid - when I heard the lid -" He sighed heavily, slid it carefully back onto the night table. "I knew she was - gone. I hadn't thought of that in years. The sound of that lid snapping shut - stayed with me, I guess. And of course I've been spending a lot of time in the past lately. It - was better than the present."

Adam nodded slightly. "I'm sorry, Pa."

Ben started, actually raised his head to meet his eyes. "_You're_ sorry. You're sorry? What on earth for?"

Adam stopped trying to pick at his bandages and picked at the quilt instead. "For everything, I suppose. For what you went through - you, and Hoss and Joe. I tried to get home -" he shrugged. "But it never should have happened. I don't know what I was thinking. I thought she was in trouble and - well. It doesn't matter. I just wish I'd thought about it a little more carefully." Tiredness had deepened to exhaustion now and he let his eyelids slide together and turned his head away. 

"_You're_ sorry." There was a sound somewhere between laughter and tears, but he was too tired now to look and try to figure out which. "_You_ are. Oh, dear God, Adam." A sigh. "Adam, you wanted to fire David Fairchild. You wanted him off the Ponderosa. It was me who insisted on keeping him on. I was so sure I could make a difference. Just couldn't resist the urge to play God." The sigh that followed was heavier this time. "I aimed him at you like a loaded gun."

He could hear the sound of boot heels on the floor, the rapid swing and creak of the rocker as the weight of a body left it. "And then, on top of it all, I abandoned you. I didn't even have enough faith to keep looking. And _you're_ sorry. God, Adam, I don't think I'll ever stop being sorry about the way I handled this."

Adam forced his eyes part way open. The sun had to be higher now, because he could feel the light touch of it on his face. A small breeze blew air into the room. 

"That's what he wanted, y'know?" he said matter-of-factly at last. He watched the sun form a puddle of pale brightness on the floor. "For you to suffer. He told me. That was the whole point." He kneaded at the torpid arm bound to his chest, trying to see if he could get the blood flowing again. "So, I guess he wins." He hesitated. "Do you know, I think I can live with anything but that?"

He heard the footsteps travel a short distance and stop, heard a long pause before the squeak of the rocker started up again. He turned his head on the pillow and searched for his father's face. 

Ben's eyes were dark and still, one hand massaging his mouth. He sat for what seemed like a long time, rocking, wrestling with some complex problem. After a while, though, he dropped his hand and locked his eyes on Adam's. He studied him, the minutes stretching, his face a mix of things. Finally, he gave a short, reluctant nod. 

A minute later, he reached down and grasped the quilt over the uninjured knee. The second nod was firm.


End file.
